


A Place to Rest

by rubycrowned



Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Completed, Deathfic, F/M, M/M, chaptered fic, death is NOT one of the boys jsyk, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it? You felt it so strong, but nothing's turned out how you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, for those who regularly read my stuff - NO I REALISE THIS ISN'T NEW. This is actually just my anally retentive A-type personality kicking in and wanting to finally post this fic as a chaptered fic rather than a series bc it's been irritating me for months (I know, I'm mental, just roll with it).
> 
> Secondly - mostly for those who haven't read this yet - this was my baby for a long time so I hope you enjoy it. It's a chaptered ziam future-fic (plus side pairings) with 9 parts including the epilogue. It all started with a dumb prompt my friend made and snowballed into the monster you see here. There is angst a plenty (if you know me then you realise that's almost a prerequisite) but I swear I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Zayn lugged his bag behind him through the airport terminal. He released a deep breath as he looked around the familiar setting; a weight seemed to be lifting off his chest. He felt a twinge of guilt at the relief of it, but, it was good to be home.

The crowds were light, to Zayn’s relief, just the normal flow of passengers back and forward, all eager to get to or from. The fans hadn’t expected him to be arriving for a few more days; they had blessfully managed to keep his early return under wraps, even though media speculation had probably been rife since he’d boarded his flight early the previous day.

Zayn was supposed to get back later in the week, with his band, after having enjoyed some of the last of the skiing season back in New Zealand. The others had decided to stay on after the news came, deflecting attention from Zayn’s hasty departure, comforting hands on his shoulders as they wished him an uneventful, if not pleasant, flight home.

At least the tour was over; once again ending down under after a long few months of near-continuous performances. It was much easier to get back to where he was needed when he wasn’t expected on stage every night.

He texted the lads to let them know he’d landed safely; let Liam know he’d be at his in an hour or so.

Climbing into a cab waiting outside, Zayn slumped into the back seat, rubbing tired eyes with the knuckles of his thumbs.

It would be good to be home. It would. For the first time in a long time he would be home for a stretch of a couple of months. The first time in a long time he could really catch up with his friends.

But.

***

One Direction hadn’t performed together in over three years by that point.

They had had a good run – two record-breaking albums, tours in more countries than Zayn could probably name off the top of his head. By the time their third album was released, just after they’d celebrated Harry’s 20th birthday, they had finally won the hard-earned respect from most of the critics who had initially criticised them as a blink-and-you’ll-miss-them hit, just another boy band to watch as they faded into obscurity. With their own words, and some added maturity, it became an album they were all proud of, and which seemed to speak to their audiences almost as much as it did to them.

But it had also been an exhausting run; they had toured almost constantly when they weren’t recording. One of the only decent breaks they had been given - in between the end of a tour and the press junket for their second album release – was also the time that Louis and Harry decided to come out to the public. The boys had all agreed to the decision; Louis and Eleanor had officially broken up almost six months before, and the entire band could feel the strain it took for Harry to not be able to display his love at any and every opportunity, for Louis to have to avoid the topic at almost every interview. It was time, and the announcement was generally well received; a backlash was felt, but it was smaller than they had dared hope, and the approaching album release had soon given fans and critics alike something to move their focus to. However, it also meant that following the announcement, a barrage of interviews were also hastily made, some for just Lou and Harry, but many involving the entire band. So that break too, was cut short.

In the end, after more than three years of mania, it was a unanimous decision for One Direction, not to split up, but to go on hiatus. After the initial hype of their third album, and the short tour which had been sold out months before, the five of them simply, well, stopped. And it was weird, but it was needed by all of them.

Not that they’d ever admit it, but a large part of the decision came out of consideration for Liam. The same break which had brought Harry and Louis’ relationship into the public eye had also been the one which had Liam get down on one knee for Danielle. The media really did have a field day those couple of month - it was almost comical how well they could predict which questions were going to be asked of them, even more so than usual.

And during the three week rest the band was given after they finished their arena tour of Australia and New Zealand, a small but lavish ceremony celebrated Liam and Danielle tying the knot. Zayn had stood at Liam’s side as best man, grin plastered onto his face with almost as much sincerity as the other lads next to him.

They were all still very young, barely adults really, and it wasn’t only the gossip rags who had voiced concern at the sensibility of such an early marriage, especially with the lifestyle attached to being one of the most popular bands in the world at the time. But if there was anything that lifestyle had forced upon all of them, when they were only fresh-faced teenagers unprepared for what was about to hit them, it was early-onset maturity. Sure they all acted like complete loons most of the time, but there was a certain responsibility, to themselves as much as anything, to not screw up this chance they had been given. And so they had grown up.

And somewhere in amongst it all, Liam had met Danielle, fallen for Danielle, loved her at least as well as any of the other married couples Zayn knew; considering those were mostly friends’ parents, that probably gave them as good a shot as any. So Zayn refused to look too closely at the squirming in his gut as his best friend quietly but confidently vowed “I do.” And while the newlyweds had managed a ten-day honeymoon in a quiet, undisclosed spot in the Mediterranean, they were able to spend little time together in the following months. Their friends’ happiness, if nothing else, was a good enough reason to postpone any more commitments for the next few months.

Of course, Larry Stylinson – the others still took great pleasure in teasing them with the nickname bestowed upon them years earlier – also leapt at the chance to revel in their own domesticity (or at least, Louis revelled in Harry being all domestic for him). Now that they were together, something which genuinely developed much later than most fangirls would ever believe, it was subtly different to the almost hilarious way they had doted on each other when they first flatted together. They too, needed some time to just be together, separate from the rest of the boys.

Niall, like Zayn, was just tired. That bone-deep tired which not even sleeping in the softest of hotel beds for twelve hours straight could fix. It wasn’t the same need that drove the other three to quiet desperation for a rest, but it was no less required. Going home to family, to friends, to their own bed and a home-cooked meal; it was a simple wish, but a keen one.

And it was only going to be for a while. Until they were well-rested and restless for more.

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.

***

Zayn is jolted awake by the cab rounding a corner particularly fast; he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he also had never been able to sleep well on planes, so the trip and the jetlag were probably catching up on him. It was a good thing he’d woken though, he was only a few minutes from Liam’s house now.

After paying the cabbie a ridiculous fare – he had to wonder where exactly he had been taken during his nap – Zayn sat his bag on the footpath and straightened his travel-worn clothes as he mentally prepared himself. It was always a big deal for Zayn when he saw his friends after months apart; he still hadn’t gotten used to the separations after years of living out of each other’s pockets.

This time was on a whole different playing field.

When he was as ready as he ever would be, although Zayn was certain he still looked a right state, he carried his gear up to the front step. Zayn was pretty sure he still had a key somewhere to get in - a copy they’d all been given for emergencies years ago – but he wasn’t quite sure where in his bag those keys were, and he didn’t want to give Liam a fright by walking in unannounced, instead opting to rap out a rhythm on the front door.

When the door was swung open, Zayn took one look at Liam, leant his suitcase against the door frame and pulled Liam into a tight embrace. The other man – for they were men now, no longer boys, playing at greatness – sank into it, a dry sob muffled into the fabric of Zayn’s shirt.

Liam was wearing sweats and a ratty tee, holey at the hem. He seemed so small, almost shrunken in on himself, and it was strange, because it was such a long time ago, even if it was such a big moment in both their lives, and Zayn barely knew Liam at the time, but the memory of Liam after they had been kicked out of X-factor – the first time, before they were put together as a group – jumped instantly to the front of Zayn’s mind. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Zayn couldn’t really blame him for it, but Liam appeared to be out of tears, for the moment at least.

“Thanks for coming, Zayn, you know you didn’t-” Liam’s voice is rough even against Zayn’s shoulder, and the words take an obvious effort.

“Course I did. You know I did,” Zayn murmurs into Liam’s curls, his hair longer than Zayn can remember it being for a long while, and only adding to the dishevelled appearance. It also made him look so young, and it struck Zayn that they really were, at 24 they were young men, who shouldn’t have to be dealing with this sort of thing. They were supposed to be strong, invincible.

“I just- I...I saw-”

Liam couldn’t get the words out, and Zayn didn’t really need to hear them. Not just then.

“Shhh, shh. I know,” he murmured as he pressed firm and even circles into Liam’s shoulder blade with the heel of his palm. He wanted to say “It’ll be okay,” but they both knew that it would have been an empty promise and would’ve helped no-one.

Liam pulled back enough to meet Zayn’s eyes, and Zayn starts slightly at the blank terror of the brown-eyed stare. It scares him a little, because Liam has always, always been so filled with emotion, bursting with happiness and worry and mischief and a million other little sparks in his eyes. Zayn can only stare as Liam tries to make his mouth form the words he needs to explain.

“But she- Zayn, Dani’s...she’s dead.”

And maybe that’s why now, that light in Liam’s eyes has disappeared. Those emotions really did take him over, until all he could see was loss.

It broke him.

And Zayn didn’t know how to put Liam back together.

He was still floundering, trying to find some small words of comfort, when a soft cry came from a room off the hall.

Liam immediately released himself from the embrace, hands reflexively wiping his cheeks of tears which hadn’t fallen as he stepped back.

“Do you, um...do you want to take your stuff in? You can just have your usual bedroom, yeah? I’ll just, I better...” Liam gestured vaguely with his hands.

“Yeah, Li, course. I’ll just chuck on some fresh clothes and be right back, ‘kay?”

“Okay, yeah...good.”

***

As Zayn went slowly back downstairs towards the lounge, he tried to figure out what he’s supposed to do here. Liam was his best friend, but he just looked so lost, and Zayn just had no idea how to deal with this. He wasn’t the person people turned to for this thing. Unfortunately, that was usually Liam.

So you better suck it up, Malik, and do what Liam would do for you in a heartbeat.

He knew what was going to face him when he pushed the door open, but it didn’t make it any easier.

He heard them before he saw them. Liam’s strained, but soft voice, gently murmuring “Hey, baby girl, guess who’s...who has come to visit us, hey?”

Zayn forced a cheerful smile onto his face as he rounded the corner, even as he heard the innocently curious “Mum? Mum home!”

And his eyes only flickered briefly to the pale, stricken face of his friend before they gravitated to the small being in Liam’s lap.

Wide brown eyes, carbon copies of her father’s, but surrounded by an already enviable head of tightly curled, dark locks, stare back at him.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a song that I wrote to for most chapters so I'll list them here in the notes in case you're masochistic enough to want to listen along with :)
> 
> You Could Be Happy - Snow Patrol
> 
> (the song which the fic title and summary come from is 'Say (All I Need)' by OneRepublic jsyk)

It turned out that the timing of One Direction’s hiatus couldn’t have been better, in the end. Zayn and the others never did find out if it was by design, or whether it was simply a well-timed coincidence, but it didn’t change the fact that, only a couple months into their time off, Liam came to the boys wearing a cheek-splitting grin to announce that Danielle was pregnant.

Zayn had always known that, one day, Liam would be a great father. He loved those close to him so purely; even when he was quietly berating you for doing something particularly dick-ish, you could never doubt the love he felt for you. He was also the best guilt-tripper Zayn knew, including his mum; Liam was the only one who had convinced him, more than once, to quit with the smoking, to finally give up sometime around the writing of their third album – he still refused to think of it as their final one – and who would sit there with him for hours, playing cards, or just gripping Zayn’s hands between his own, hiding their shaking.

And when Anastasia was born, and he saw his best friend holding his daughter in his arms, Zayn thought he’d possibly never seen anything so natural. Zayn had just arrived, a nurse pointing him in the right direction for the maternity ward, and he almost walked straight past, aiming for the nurse’s station to find out what room they were in, when he glimpsed Liam through the window. It wasn’t Danielle’s room, it was the one where they kept a whole bunch of the babies together – Zayn didn’t know what that was called. And Liam had such a glowing joy about him as he stared at this sleeping baby’s face; something warm swelled in Zayn, lighting up his own face before he could think.

Since then, Zayn had been away a lot. He had signed onto a one-record deal as a solo artist, just for the interim of the band’s break, while they were still figuring out what they were going to do. It was the scariest thing Zayn had ever done, and not quite the most exciting. He loved the freedom of singing his own songs, his own style; the lack of diplomacy which is required when you have to split solos between five friends, but no longer needed when it’s just you. He loved the knowledge that it was him the fans were there to see – although, a part of his mind niggled that they wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for One Direction. And he loved the band that supported him; they were a great bunch of guys and he’d fallen in well with them the past couple years. But it wasn’t the same. He knew it wouldn’t be, but he also didn’t think he would feel their absence quite so keenly, like missing limbs. He was always grateful whenever he could get back home to see them, more so than he ever did when it was only his family he was returning to; grateful for the irregular phone calls and Skype sessions which they tried to coordinate around mismatched time zones.

Zayn made the effort to see his friends as much as possible when he was home, both individually and as a group. But he rarely saw Liam’s family. Danielle and Zayn had never been close - Zayn didn’t have a problem with her or anything; she was married to his best mate, he thought she was quite nice, must be for Liam to love her so much – and Danielle often opted to stay home with the baby, sending the lads out to be noisy elsewhere. So other than the photos which Liam displayed proudly whenever Zayn remembered to ask, and the odd time when Zayn would pop round by himself to see Liam – usually when Danielle was out shopping – Zayn didn’t see much of Liam’s daughter. Definitely didn’t spend enough time with her for the toddler to remember him very well.

So Zayn didn’t take it to heart when the little girl’s face dropped in disappointment on seeing Zayn; instead turning in her father’s lap to grizzle quietly against Liam’s chest. Zayn watched his friend take a deep breath while he rubbed Anastasia’s back, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. “No, look! See? It’s Uncle Zayn! He’s come all the way over from New Zealand on a huge plane to come see you, he has. You’d better say hi to him.”

Zayn stepped closer to the sofa, crouching slightly to peer under the mop of curls in an attempt to catch her eye.

“Hey there, Ana! Do you remember me? I bet you don’t; last time I saw you, you were tiny! I bet your bunny there was just about as big as you were then,” referring to the slightly grubby stuffed toy she held clutched in one small fist.

He got a small grin for that. Zayn counted it as a win; especially when he looked up to find the tiniest of smiles perking up the corners of Liam’s mouth as well.

***

The next day, Zayn met the other lads for lunch. He’d urged Liam to come with him, just to get out of the house, but excuses were made; he had to make phone calls, funeral arrangements, Ana had had an unsettled night, his Mum was coming back the next day and he needed to double check when she would be arriving.

Liam’s mum had driven to see him almost faster than Zayn thought humanly possible when she was first told of Danielle’s death. But the world doesn’t stop just because yours has, and so Liam had to let her leave again, the morning Zayn had arrived, so that she could organise work, Liam’s father, his sisters; even the simplest of necessities such as clothes, forgotten in her need to get to her shell-shocked son.

And while Zayn doubted that Karen would need much coordination with Liam in order to get back here the day before the funeral, he let Liam have his excuses.

They met in a cafe, not far from Liam’s house. It wasn’t too busy when they arrived, after the main lunchtime rush, and the usual patrons and staff were used to the sight of them – while the hype of One Direction had more or less died off, they weren’t exactly off the radar, and with the news of Liam’s bereavement, Zayn knew there would be an increase in the lowly type of pap who wanted to capture their pain.

It was also roughly equidistant to Louis and Harry’s home. After so much time spent as a five-person unit, they had all needed their time and space to themselves, but they also couldn’t bring themselves to be too far from each other. They were only the next suburb over from Liam’s and, while Zayn and Niall both had apartments closer to the city centre, they still tended to revert to their old habit of crashing at whoever’s place they were at, or was most convenient.

Zayn was the last to arrive, after a failed last-ditch attempt to drag Liam along with him. Niall leapt up to wrap him in a warm embrace, which Zayn sank into with grateful familiarity. The carefree grin which usually graced the Irishman’s face had been sobered slightly, but there was still genuine warmth in his expression, pleasure at their reunion after four months of minimal contact.

Niall had been busy in recent years. He had mostly chilled along with the rest of them for that first year or so, delighting fans with a guest-judge spot on X-Factor, and writing some light and catchy songs when the whim took him. But, as time went on, and there was no sign of a 1D return, Niall began to move in a slightly different direction. With encouragement and a couple well-placed shoulder taps from Simon, Niall had been working his way up in the production side of the music he loved. And he was doing a good job; Zayn couldn’t stop listening to the new record from one of Niall’s newest bands, Off Road, during his down time in the final leg of his tour. He was considering talking to him about them opening Zayn’s next trip to Europe; they seemed like good guys from what he could tell, and something in their easygoing nature reminded Zayn of their producer. Maybe that was what attracted Zayn to them.

Zayn gave a tight grin back as he pulled away from Niall, gaze settling on the tangled limbs occupying the other side of the booth, picking at each others’ plates.

Harry and Lou hadn’t changed much; they were still the soppy, loved-up twats Zayn groaned at, while secretly jealous of the easy dedication each had for the other. Harry had finally stopped growing; he now stood at almost a full head taller than Louis. He still retained his round cheeks and head of curls though – he could never bring himself to shear them off since Lou pouted whenever he brought it up – and so he looked much younger than his 23 years. Louis had changed least of all, only a slight shortening and flattening of his hair, and an ever so slightly less manic glint in his eyes differentiating between photos of him from now and 5 years past; besides the occasional attempt at facial hair, which always had Zayn and Niall doubled up in laughter as they mocked him and Harry sat petting the prickly fuzz fondly.

He was clean shaven at that moment, in preparation for a new role, Zayn discovered later on; Louis had come into his own, breaking into the West End slowly but surely. He started with small parts, previous credentials not exactly doing a whole lot to support his cause (although they’d finally learnt to laugh at that nightmare which had been iCarly), but soon proved himself. An older audience began to appreciate his performances, and his next role was to be a supporting, but major, one.

Harry stood next to him as an ever-supportive anchor. For a long time, that was enough for him too; Harry always had, when it came down to it, enjoyed the quiet moments, out of the direct spotlight. But, just after the New Year was welcomed in, Harry finally got back into his second-biggest love – singing. He went about it quietly, refusing to sign onto a label immediately, refusing to let almost anyone know really, for a start. The hype had died down, and Harry liked it that way; liked the relative anonymity compared to being the Harry Styles of One Direction. He formed another band, The Game, with a few musicians he had met in various places around London, and began playing small gigs in bars, the occasional show. They were just this side of indie, a bit obscure, vague and mellow lyrics which screamed Harry at his core. He didn’t do it for the money or the fame anymore, would have been happy with that life forever, Zayn was sure, but even keeping low-key wouldn’t work forever, not when they were genuinely great, and definitely not when the lead singer was Harry. The Game were getting more and more hits all over YouTube, HD phone videos of their performances becoming increasingly common. Harry had revealed to Zayn about a month ago that they were in talks about recording an album next year sometime.

First, though, Harry and Louis had something much bigger to finalise, and celebrate. After over four years together, Larry Stylinson was getting hitched in just over a month, a mid-autumn wedding.

Or they were. Before all this.

Zayn wasn’t sure where this left things.

But despite the sombre circumstances of their reunion, the four men were able to find at least some pleasure, comfort, in their friends’ presence, if only for a couple hours. They discussed everything and nothing, much the same as they had always been, although often looking at the empty seat where their missing limb would usually be; they still thought like that, even after all this time. When they were together, they were still the five lads who were thrown together to become one entity, something no-one else could ever quite understand.

And when one of them was hurting, they all were.

***

It was a car accident.

Almost unbelievably clichéd. Something so common that it never could happen to you, the ones you love.

Until it does.

It was wet, dark, slippery. It was late.

It was a speeding driver, just the wrong side of the alcohol limit, slipping across the centre line.

It was Danielle’s small BMW skidding, sliding, spinning.

It was an impact between the flickering lamp post and the driver’s door, crumpling.

It was Harry banging down Liam’s door because the police couldn’t get a hold of Liam and all the boys were listed on Dani’s phone as emergency contacts (except Zayn, but surely that was because he was so often away).

It was denial.

It was Liam identifying the body, still slightly warm under his touch, surely sleeping.

It was blood congealing under her body, surely not sleeping.

It was Louis and Harry and Niall waiting outside, watching through the window, repeating the story later for Zayn who wasn’t there.

It was guilt.

It was a hundred other moments that Liam kept in silence, that Zayn didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know if he wanted to ask.

It was Liam keeping Anastasia no more than a room away at any time, unable to let her out of hearing distance; out of sight only when necessary.

It was Zayn walking in on Liam crying softly into one of Danielle’s oversized jumpers, fabric pressed to his nose, as if he can just retain her scent then maybe it would be her, not Zayn, in the doorway.

It was Liam falling into sleep in Zayn’s arms, creases finally smoothing from his forehead.

It was Liam’s not quite silent, sleepy whisper.

“Stay.”

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> along with the previous chapter, this part is tied to 'You Could Be Happy' by Snow Patrol

The morning of the funeral, there was a chill to the overcast day; a reminder that summer was now over. 

Zayn sat with Niall, Louis and Harry in the row second from the front, directly behind Danielle and Liam’s families. From his position closest to the aisle, Zayn brushed fingers lightly against Liam’s in support as he walked woodenly towards his own seat, choosing to ignore the polished, flower-laden casket before them.

It was strange, being there. It was the same church - Danielle’s family’s – where the couple had been married; Zayn’s only other experience within its walls. And to return, not yet four years since, for  _this_ , it wasn’t right, not by any stretch of the imagination. Especially not as Zayn caught glimpses of a small girl with her mother’s hair giggling as she was bounced in her paternal grandmother’s lap and photos of a smiling Danielle stared back at them from a slideshow on the wall. Especially when the same girl became sick of this game and began grizzling quietly into her grandmother’s jacket, wanting to know when “Mummy” would be there, and Zayn could see the muscles in her father’s shoulders tense.

The service began, and Zayn was sure it was beautiful, moving, devastating to match the tragedy of a life lost young. He couldn’t say for sure though, for he spent the duration with his eyes fixed to the back of Liam’s neck, watching every twitch and shudder ripple through it, and sending what strength he could, hoping that it might be enough.

Louis would nudge him whenever it was time for him to show some sort of attention, lend his voice in the soft chorusing of a hymn, voice tripping over the unfamiliar tunes, but picked up fast enough not to draw attention. Even then, his eyes would only flicker as often as absolutely necessary from his friend to the programme being wrinkled in his hands.

Then it was time for Liam’s eulogy.

When Zayn had turned up on Liam’s doorstep, the other man had looked so much younger than his 24 years; now, stepping up to the lectern, Liam looked as though he had aged ten years.

“I...” Liam faltered, bloodshot eyes staring blindly out at the gathering. Zayn’s whole body twitched with the urge to go to him, hide him, protect him.

Liam closed his eyes briefly, thumb and forefinger pressing against his eyelids as if to hold back the emotions welled up behind them. When they reopened, they fluttered around the room until they came to settle on Zayn. Zayn, who gave him the smallest of nods as he stared back with a face of solemnity, eyes wide with concern.

Zayn was never sure what Liam said in his speech – he knew it was love; love and grief, dripping from every syllable, each laboured intake of breath, and what mattered other than that? The individual words were unimportant. And he knew that the entire time, Liam’s eyes never left Zayn’s; a point to anchor him, a point to draw strength from.

Even when Zayn doubted Liam could see his face anymore, voice thick as tears spilled down his cheeks to drip onto the neglected cue cards before him, his gaze burned through Zayn, whose own eyes stung as tears pricked the corners in sympathy (and his own sadness, of course, he was upset too, he was). Zayn had a feeling that other people may have been staring a little by the end, could feel Louis’ hand warm on his knee, squeezing gently, but he couldn’t care less. Fuck them all, he was here for Liam and he cared a whole lot more that Liam got through today than what a bunch of strangers and acquaintances thought of the interaction.

When Liam sat back down, Zayn cursed the fact that he was just beyond the reach of placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder. But when he turned his head to give Zayn a shaky smile, Zayn returned it, and some of the pressure within him seemed to release.

***

The burial was worse, and better.

Worse, because there was something so final in the lowering of the casket, in the act of tossing a rose in after it, a whispered _farewell_. Because this time, Liam’s tears weren’t silent, restrained; they wracked his body, deafening Zayn whose hearing narrowed ‘til he could hear nothing but the raw pain.

Better, because this time Zayn could move to stand behind his friend, because this time Liam turned enough to grip onto Zayn, for Zayn to wrap his arms around Liam’s shoulders and hold him close, hold him together; feel the shudders calm ever so slightly as his body muffled their impact. Because there were fewer people here, and rather than shooting judgemental looks at Zayn, all he could see was sympathy in the creased faces around him, the odd nod of approval.

It was an almost unconscious instinct to reach up and knot his fingers into the only half-tamed hair, to card his fingers through it as he made soothing sounds, murmured into Liam’s space. It stabbed something deep inside him, hurt, but felt right.

It was better, and worse.

***

Eventually, there was quiet.

The family and friends, who swarmed Liam’s house, devouring sandwiches and savouries, only to replace them with casseroles and pies to stock the overflowing freezer, had finally left. Left the house large and echoing.

Liam’s family remained; they would stay a couple more days, until work, husbands, commitments tugged them away once more. But they too had ventured upstairs to their respective beds, drained by the day’s events.

Zayn was going to be sleeping on the couch that night; Liam’s house was big, but not that big, and in a way Zayn preferred it this way. The sofa was large, dangerously comfy when trying to stay awake for a movie; Zayn could almost pretend that that was all this was – a visit which lasted late enough into the night that it made more sense to stay then go back to his own cold, empty flat. He supposed that was still an option too, but it felt so wrong to leave now, like it would require fighting a pull he had no energy, or inclination, to resist.

Even Anastasia was finally sleeping peacefully in her room, after more than a little struggling to get her there. The child wanted her mother, had never spent so long without her, and knew, in her infinite youth, that something wasn’t right, just not what. And after a day of being dressed up, hushed, juggled between various family members, some familiar and some not, this need was only more obvious. Zayn didn’t think Liam had explained to her yet where Danielle had gone, that she wouldn’t be back to tuck her in, to make her breakfast in the morning; Zayn didn’t know how you were supposed to ever  _try_  explain something like that, a task which must be just as difficult to carry out for Liam’s own emotions as to get a two-year-old to understand it.

For now though, it was quiet, and everything else could wait.

Zayn lay sprawled on the couch, not ready for sleep just yet, but eyeing Liam cautiously through half-closed eyelids, who was sat perched on the chair towards Zayn’s feet. His hands were wrapped tightly around a cup of tea - which Zayn was certain must be cold by now – and he was staring off into blankness. Zayn refused to push the silence though; god knew that Liam hadn’t had enough of it the past week, and he actually might have been dozing off when-

“Do you think she’s happy?” The words were tentative, but almost child-like in their earnestness.

Zayn tried to resist the urge to move, change positions to sit closer to Liam, see his face more clearly, afraid that in doing so he would break whatever spell had Liam bring up the subject he had been almost studiously avoiding.

“I...I don’t know, Li, but...I can’t bring myself to doubt it,” Zayn spoke slowly, hushed, considering what Liam needed to hear and also unable to lie to his best friend, even when it might be a kindness. “I hope so.”

“Me too,” Liam’s voice cracked, and Zayn closed his eyes on the harsh intake of breath following it, a dry sob wracking Liam’s body.

Thinking that might have been it, Zayn slowly levered himself into a sitting position, knuckles pressed into the sofa cushions about to scoot himself to Liam’s end of the couch, when Liam spoke again, and Zayn froze.

“She wasn’t when she died, you know,” he says it somewhere between matter of fact and disbelieving, followed by a hysterical giggle, quickly strangled, “Happy, I mean.”

All Zayn wants is to be able to tell him  _No, you can’t know that, can’t even_ think _that, ok_ , but he senses this is something Liam wants to, needs to, get out, let spill from him before it cracks him. So he keeps still, silent. Waits.

“Did they tell you that it was Harry who had to tell me?” Zayn swallowed, then nodded jerkily, wondering where this was going; the no one had elaborated on that part of the story, which Zayn found curious, but sort of realised that none of them would be able to answer him if he did question it.

“We fought the night she died. We’d been fighting a bit lately, I guess, more than we used to, anyway. But this time was worse. We yelled,  _I_  yelled,” and Zayn raised his eyebrows slightly because that was something he could count the occurrences of on his fingers, “and it was stupid, because there wasn’t even anything  _to_  fight about. It was that we were tired, and the washing hadn’t been ironed, and had Ana been feeling feverish because we couldn’t risk her getting another chest infection, and we just  _exploded_.”

“Liam, just because you guys had a fight doesn’t mean-”

“I told her to leave. I don’t know why. I just...I was so  _angry_ , and I didn’t know why, but I just told her that she should go, clear her head, see a friend, whatever, just, away from me. And she did. Said something about visiting Kerri, not to worry if she didn’t come home that night, ‘If that was something that would worry you, anyway’,” Liam’s eyes were shining bright with unshed tears, and Zayn’s surprised they hadn’t fallen yet, “There was no goodbye, no ‘I love you’, nothing. Just anger, and hurt, and then...then I unplugged the phone, switched off my cell.”

Zayn had managed to move slowly to the point where now he was able to remove the stone-cold tea from Liam’s grasp, instead enclosing Liam’s hands with his own, squeezing tightly,  _I’m here, and it’s not enough, but I’m here._

“And so the police couldn’t get hold of you?” he questioned softly.

“I just didn’t want to  _fight_  anymore,” Liam stared up at Zayn suddenly, desperately, “and if she couldn’t talk to me, then neither of us could say anything else we’d regret.”

“Li, it’s not-”

“ _Louis_ had to answer the phone call.  _Louis._ And he, he couldn’t do it, had to get Harry- they  _shouldn’t have had to do that._ ” There was a hard glint in Liam’s eyes, and Zayn could almost hear the unspoken, self-deprecating  _that_ was  _my fault_  between them.

As much as Zayn wanted to, he couldn’t find the words, a way to release that burden from Liam, didn’t think there was a way to stop him from punishing himself for something he had no control over. So he returned to silence – something Zayn seemed to be getting good at – and made do with rubbing circles with his thumbs into the insides of Liam’s wrist, feeling the erratic flutter of a distressed heartbeat.

When Liam next spoke, breaking the fragile silence, it was barely a whisper, and beyond broken, shattered.

“I don’t want to close my eyes. All I see is angry words, her face as she left. She wasn’t happy, Zayn, and all I dream of is her in her last moments.” Tears are falling now, wet against their intertwined hands. “They said it wasn’t her fault, that the guy was drunk, but...she was speeding too, she could’ve had time to react, to get out of the road, but she didn’t. And in my dreams, her face is the same as when she left, angry tears in her eyes, and what if that’s what happened? That she was going too fast because she was mad at me, and she couldn’t see what was happening until it was too late? What if I killed her, Zayn?”

This was too much for Zayn, and he gathered the other man under his arm, and bundled him onto the sofa until they were both lying down, Zayn’s chest cushioning Liam’s head, and slowly being dampened by a steady flow of salty tears.

“You  _did not_  kill her, Liam. You  _didn’t_ , okay? It was some fucker who had more booze than sense and it is. Not. Your. Fault.” Zayn nearly hissed the words over the top of Liam’s head, insistent fingers pressing into Liam’s back to try and reinforce his words. “You can’t think like that. You just...you can’t.”

Liam buried his face further into Zayn. “Sometimes the dreams are worse,” and Zayn has to strain to catch the muffled words, spoken like a confession, “Sometimes...this is the dream. I catch her scent on the pillow as I’m waking up, or I walk around the house and see her favourite mug sitting on the coffee table, and, just for a second, none of its true.

And then I remember.”

Zayn can’t do anything but pull Liam impossibly closer. He can’t speak anymore, his own throat choked up, thick with tears; he’s stopped trying to analyse why they don’t feel like they’re for Danielle. He can only try to express in his embrace the things he can’t say, probably can’t even do, no matter how hard he tries.

Keep him safe; from the world, from the truth.

Let him know; it’s over, he will be okay, will get through this; I will be here for you.

That part at least, he could honour.

_I’m here. I’m not going anywhere._

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happiness - The Fray

There was a fog which had clouded Liam’s vision, Zayn thought; one which obscured the warmth in his liquid chocolate eyes, left everything tinged grey with grief.

Happiness was a distant memory, a faith in a time and state of being which had been shattered in the slam of a door.

So Zayn kept his unspoken promise; he stayed.

And he saw when Liam couldn’t; what he couldn’t.

***

Niall’s birthday was only a few days after the funeral.

Zayn had been due back by then, and there had been plans for a big celebratory catch up with the boys; talk of maybe popping over and making a weekend out of it in France or somewhere.

As it was, Zayn considered it a success when he managed to drag Liam out of the house and down the road to the local pub; a meet up with the lads for a quiet drink, a relatively sober toast to Niall’s 24 years.

Liam had been begging leave all afternoon while Zayn and Karen had been nagging, pleading, scolding him into spending the evening with his best friends.

They knew it was difficult for him, but he hadn’t left the house for the three days since the funeral, hadn’t been outside at all except for the odd half hour in the backyard with a babbling Anastasia. Zayn had seen him looking at the summer sunshine around him as though it had betrayed him, daring to be warm and bright when everything was so clearly the opposite. Ana had run around, tumbled into the grass, then picked herself up, giggling. She had collected stones and bark chips and a bright yellow flower - which she  _definitely_  should not have tugged off of its mother plant - to show her father; tried to pull on Liam’s fingers with her small hands to tug him into standing, to chase her round the lawn. Not that it worked, but she really did seem to want nothing more than to see that crinkle-eyed grin light up Liam’s face.  _She and I both_ , Zayn thought from his position watching from the kitchen window, hand absentmindedly on the milk bottle as he made another round of tea for everyone.

In the end it had been a quiet “Go on, son. She’ll be okay,” from Liam’s own father, who nodded over his newspaper towards Ana as he spoke, which had somehow convinced Liam. She was decked out in butterfly pyjamas and cosily cuddling into her grandmother to hear the story of the baby owls who were waiting patiently for their mama to come home. She looked about ready to drop off at any second, and Zayn could feel his own lips turning up slightly at the picture before him, while Liam murmured a small “ _okay”_.

It was all the assent Zayn needed, and he rapidly bundled Liam out the door, only flinching slightly as he heard Karen’s voice drifting out from the lounge as he shut the front door behind them.  _“‘I want my mummy’, said Bill”_. He just hoped Liam was too far ahead to hear.

It was just the six of them at the pub; the five lads and Sammi, Niall’s girlfriend. They’d met, well, at a pub actually, a bit over a year ago now, and had moved in together not long before Zayn had left on tour last. Zayn liked her; she reminded him a lot of Niall, and not just because she too was Irish. She was always up for a laugh, nothing the boys said or did ever seemed to phase her, and she could come surprisingly close to matching her partner not only pint for pint, but plate for plate of food. Zayn didn’t even want to think what their grocery bill was like.

Sam was fairly close to them all at this point; she shared Niall’s talent for worming a hole into your heart before you knew what was happening, until you were already missing them. And she had also been close to Danielle – almost a necessary by-product of having to be part of their five-person circus, even if Sammi hadn’t been around for the actual One Direction days. The affection for the missing person dimmed even the Irish pairs’ joy.

Despite a somewhat stumbling start to the evening though, after a couple beers in, Zayn found himself grinning at whatever story Louis was re-enacting of 18-year-old Niall for Sammi’s benefit. Even the occasional bark of laughter burst from Zayn at Niall’s flushed cheeks; he knew Niall was only a little embarrassed – he was still pretty shameless – but was going red with choking back his own laughter, and the urge to bust in and finish the story himself.

At his own laughter, Zayn found himself looking over to Liam, feeling slightly guilty.

It hadn’t escaped Zayn’s thoughts that the last birthday to be celebrated had been Liam’s. That only a few weeks ago there had been a similar night of laughter and joy. Zayn had missed it – the only time since they’d met, and it had left Zayn somewhat upset that he couldn’t give his best mate a hug on his birthday – but the brief Skype chat they’d managed to time just before Liam was headed out with his wife and daughter for a family dinner - before everyone else came over for supper and drinks - was enough to show just how happy Liam truly was.

Here, now, Liam was sitting with knuckles white around his glass of coke. A tight smile sat frozen on his face as his eyes stared blankly in the direction of the conversation around him.

Zayn reached underneath the table and gave Liam’s knee a quick squeeze.

Liam blinked.

Zayn watched.

And he could see that happiness was brittle, forced.

For now, at least, happiness was impossible.

***

Autumn was officially here and the leaves had laid down a red and golden carpet for Louis and Harry as the wedding guests entered the London Film Museum for the service. The Rotunde was stunning, and Zayn sucked in a breath as he looked around him; it was impressive, yet simple enough not to detract from the main event, blue columns matching Zayn, Niall and Liam’s ties to the most minute shade.

As co-best man, he probably should have seen the venue before the day of, but Zayn  _had_ been out of the country, off the continent even, when most of the decisions regarding the wedding had been made. And since he returned, while plans had remained to keep the ceremony for the same date, Niall had stepped up as main co-ordinator with the grooms – which basically translated to being Louis’ bitch – while Zayn took care of Liam.

Zayn had been living at Liam’s for over a month now. He’d never officially moved in, but slowly and steadily, the majority of his stuff had ended up there, in one room or another. Yes, his clothes filled a small set of drawers in the ‘guest’ room, his various hair products were spread over the family bathroom counter and his green toothbrush sat in a glass next to Ana’s purple dinosaur one (Liam still had one of those ones with all the blinking lights and was plugged into its charger next to the others). But there was also a small collection of books stacked into the bookcase (alphabetically) which hadn’t been there before, Zayn’s favourite jam was in amongst the spreads, and the small, handwritten recipe book from his mother sat next to the stove.

Liam and Zayn walked in early, depositing Anastasia with Sammi to “go get pretty”; she was going to be the flower girl, and she was almost bouncing with excitement the entire trip over, and Liam had to keep telling her to stop tugging on her dress, “Yes, I know it feels nice, love, but if you keep pulling on it it’ll rip and then you won’t be able to wear it at all.” Zayn looked out the window at the passing city, hiding his smirk.

Once Sammi and Ana had disappeared, Liam took out his phone, looking at the screen and shaking his head, a small, amused smile tweaking his lips. “So, Niall texted me, freaking out because he managed to drip chilli down his white shirt, and it  _should_  be covered by the waistcoat but Lou will flip if he sees, which means Niall’s off trying to find a replacement shirt.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow at Liam. “I’d ask why he was eating chilli at ten in the morning, but it  _is_  Niall we’re talking about so I’m not even going to go there. One each then?” He rummaged in his pocket and held up a coin, “You call it. Loser gets Louis.”

Liam shot a look at Zayn but called out “tails” anyway when he flicked the coin into the air, and Zayn was pretty sure Liam was holding his breath when Zayn held his hand over the coin, placing it on the back the other. “Bugger, mate. Heads it is,” Zayn grinned and moved towards the door Sam had pointed out as being Harry’s, “Good luck with Groomzilla.”

And Zayn  _definitely_  saw Liam gulp as he knocked and opened Louis’ door to a cry of “ _Liam_! What the hell is a full Windsor? And how is it different to a half Windsor?”

It was all Zayn could do not to do something stupid – he wasn’t sure whether he was closer to fist-pumping the air or sobbing in relief – because for almost a full hour there (he wouldn’t quite say the whole morning, but still) it was nearly like having the old Liam back. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t understand why Liam was still pretty out of it a lot of the time, could still be found asleep some nights with a pillow wearing an old sweater of Danielle’s huddled in his arms, nose deep in the materials; or watching Ana play, curls bouncing, with such a sad expression casting shadows over his face that Zayn had to turn away.

But Zayn was always happiest seeing the genuine smile cross Liam’s face, however fleeting, however few and far between they may be. And today, Zayn had already seen almost more than he could name from the entire month previous.

Harry, much as Zayn had predicted, was fairly straightforward to organise. The younger man seemed to be taking the day’s excitement in his stride and, besides the occasional nervous fidget, he seemed almost to radiate a serenity, a total bliss for what was to come. Harry had always known what he’d wanted, and believed in the truth of it, even when he knew he couldn’t have it, not for the moment anyway. He was more patient than a lot of people would give him credit for, Zayn thought. And so Zayn found himself just about being calmed more by Harry’s presence than the other way around. He felt a little guilty leaving Liam to deal with Louis by himself, but when he sent a text to make sure that Louis hadn’t broken anything (or anyone for that matter), Liam sounded like he had everything under control.

And, although Zayn should’ve known better than to doubt Liam’s mystical powers, he was still surprised to see a relatively composed Louis stepping into the hall before Liam as they made their way to the ceremony. After the mess he’d been earlier, it was almost a little creepy.

Zayn slowed his steps to match Liam’s as they walked down several corridors towards the Rotunde. “Jesus, how the hell did you manage that, Li?” he muttered quietly, so that the grooms wouldn’t overhear. However, a quick glance at his friend’s face and Zayn thought he might regret saying anything. The tight smile Zayn had come to loathe a little was back in place as Liam stared at the backs of the two men ahead of them.

“I...I just talked to him. About how I felt when  _I_  was the one getting married, the one panicking about flowers and seating and...silly tie knots,” Liam gave a slight chuckle, but Zayn wasn’t laughing, even though trust Liam to be worrying about those things more than his bride was; he did seem to remember a certain tantrum over the locations for the wedding photos.

“I reminded him why it was that we went through all the stress and the drama of it all; because we love,” Liam paused for a second, swallowing, “because we love our partners, and we want to prove that, for the whole world to see. For the rest of our lives.”

His voice broke on the final word, and Zayn looked up from where he had been determinedly focusing on the thick carpet they were walking on, to see shining eyes staring back at him, searching blindly for something to cling to.

“Right guys! Are we ready to do this thing?” Niall had leapt from around the corner, presumably wearing a fresh shirt beneath his bronze waistcoat, and thumped Harry and Lou enthusiastically on the back, before steering them in the direction of the small entrance room, by a hand on each shoulder. He turned to wink at Liam and Zayn as they disappeared through the doors.

Zayn didn’t say a word. But he did grasp Liam’s hand firmly within his own, and led them both to follow the path of the other men.

Happiness was hesitant. It was sporadic and fleeting.

But when Liam’s eyes filled with tears of an entirely different sort during Louis’ heartfelt vows, and Zayn felt a warm hand entwined with his own, he knew that, when it did arrive, it was also genuine.

***

“Unca Zayn. UNCA  _ZAAAY-EEEN!_ ”

The lumpy weight of a small body forced an  _oonf_ out of Zayn’s still mostly-sleeping form. He rolled over carefully so as not to dislodge it over the side of his bed. Well, not  _his_  bed; all three of them – Zayn, Liam and Ana – had stayed over at Lou and Harry’s the night before, and Zayn was in one of the guest rooms.

He ran a hand down his face and gazed blearily through the light cast from the doorway at the pj clad toddler sitting on his middle, patting his chest methodically when she couldn’t get a response out of her target.

“Hey, Tazzie.” The endearment rolled sleepily off Zayn’s tongue. The nickname had arisen from some forgotten incident in the last couple of months, and the play on Anastasia’s name had apparently stuck, for Zayn at least; he seemed to be the only person who got away with using the name – the few times Liam had tried, he had received only a long-suffering look from his two-year-old daughter, which was comical enough to leave Zayn doubled over laughing without fail. “Whatcha up to?”

The pounding against Zayn’s bare chest only intensified when flailing feet joined the mix.

“It CHRISSMAS! Lotsa presents, Dad says upupup,” squealed Ana in delight, deciding the best way to proceed with this plan was to try and uncover Zayn’s hands and drag him out of bed if necessary.

“Really? Dad said it was time to get up at,” he glanced to the red numbers of the alarm clock next to him and groaned, “oh my god, Taz, ten past seven?”

“Up up!” came the undeterred response, and determined yanks on Zayn’s fingers followed, “Presents!”

“Okay, okay, up it is, ratbag,” Zayn’s voice was still fuzzy, mouth dry and just a bit furry from sleep and the night before. They had celebrated Louis’ 26th birthday the night before, just a nice dinner and a few drinks for his, and Harry’s by extension, close friends and family. It had, inevitably for a party spent with a high-spirited Louis, turned into more than a couple drinks, although someone had blessfully prevented him from getting out the shots after the wine ran out late in the night. Zayn was glad that it had already been arranged for Liam’s household to simply crash at their place the night; Christmas dinner was being hosted by the newlyweds and, while Niall and Sammi headed home and returned later the next day, it was easier for Liam to just put Ana to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms when she eventually conked out.

When Zayn sat up, throwing a giggling Anastasia half over his shoulder while he searched for some form of trousers to throw on over his pants, there was a distinct lack of headache, so he figured that was one positive at least, even if he was getting up at such a god-forsaken time. On a _holiday_. “Let’s go find that Dad of yours, huh?”

Ana was shrieking by the time they reached the lounge, Zayn bouncing her along in her upside down perch as they made their way downstairs. Zayn would normally have been a little worried about making her so excited so early in the morning, but it  _was_  Christmas morning, and she  _was_  a small child, so he decided it was already unavoidable. He would also normally have been more cautious about making such a racket so early but Zayn figured, as he thudded down each step with slightly more force than necessary, if he had to be up at such a ridiculous time, then so did everyone else.

The lounge looked a little like Santa’s elves had had a good night out and wound up puking Christmas all through it. There were tinsel and lights attached to most free surfaces, not only the tree, and Zayn had found (and hidden away from opportunity) at least three different sprigs of mistletoe. The tree itself was an eclectic mix; it kind of looked as though they had been going for one of those classy straight-from-a-magazine Christmas trees, but the collection of decorations which were clearly from their childhood (including a particularly hideous gold macaroni-and-glitter cardboard tree) sort of ruined the effect. If he were honest, it reminded Zayn of his own Christmas tree from when he was a kid, just a whole lot bigger.

And there was an almost obnoxious pile of presents underneath said tree – although it was for all of them this year, so it wasn’t  _too_  bad – all wrapped with varying levels of skill and flair; Zayn could tell at a glance that the most poorly wrapped, with the biggest bows were from Louis, and the most precise, a little surprisingly perhaps, tended to be from Harry. They were probably distinguished best from Liam’s by the sheer _number_  of stick-on bows covering Harry’s, while Liam only ever used one, or had tied them up with ribbon instead. Zayn’s own were comparably plain; fairly nicely wrapped, if he did think so himself, but without much decoration except for the tag; he didn’t really see the point in the extras which were only going to get ripped off and thrown away in about ten seconds flat. And those wrapped in the brightest, most clashing colours, with near ridiculous lengths of tape used haphazardly but definitely effective, were from Niall.

But it was the lumpy oversized stocking leaning against the fireplace, next to a crumb-covered plate, which had Ana’s attention when Zayn placed her right side up on the carpet. Liam had explained to him the night before while he was stuffing a collection of presents into the stocking that this was the first Christmas Ana really understood what was going on. This year she actually had some memories of all the goodies and excitement that Christmas, and especially Santa, could bring. Zayn had tried to help, but his somewhat inebriated state left him less than useful, instead shoved into a corner with the Christmas cake left for Santa.

“Well don’t you look full of Christmas cheer?”

Zayn spotted Liam on one of the overstuffed couches as he straightened his sleep-stiff joints, then moved to join him, glaring.

“Merry Christmas to you too, plonker,” Zayn grumbled as he pulled Liam into a headlock and ruffled his still-shaggy hair, “I can’t believe you got me up at seven a.m.”

Liam twisted in Zayn’s grip until he was lying with his head in Zayn’s lap, facing up at him with a grim expression. “She’s been up since six.”

As if sensing she was being discussed, Ana was soon a flying ball of hair and pyjamas, landing on her father’s stomach.

“Daddaddad. Santa been!”

“Hello, bumblebee. Yes, I see, love, we’ve just got to wait on your slowpoke uncles to get their bums out of bed-”

“Well aren’t you just a picture of Christmas domesticity,” Louis’ grinning even as he stumbled through the doorway.

“And we are  _not_  slow. We just don’t believe in getting up before the sun does,” Harry sounded about as grouchy as Zayn had felt; really, Liam was the only one who ever seemed able to handle early starts. At least someone had had the forethought to make sure that Harry didn’t just roll out of bed and walk into the lounge; he too was bare-chested and clad in sweatpants. “S’cold.”

Ana let out a high-pitched squeal at the new arrivals and tumbled off the sofa to wrap chubby hands around one of Harry’s, pulling him from where he stood snuggling against Louis, trying to leech some warmth from the other man.

He whined a little, extracting laughs from the rest of them, but acquiesced to the toddler’s insistence. “Fine. Where’s my presents, then?”

“No, young Harold. It’s only Santa presents first thing, the rest have to wait until after dinner, when everyone’s here. And  _you_  were far too naughty this year to be getting anything from Santa.”

There may have been more grumbling from Zayn’s youngest friend, but the rest of the morning went by pretty enjoyably; mostly because Zayn wasn’t much of a cook, so Harry left him in the lounge with Anastasia and Lou. Ana seemed pretty satisfied with her haul of toys – less interested in the clothes – so she was content to play by herself for most of the time. Zayn even managed to drift back to sleep for a short while when no one was looking, although it was a light sleep; Louis was lurking somewhere and he still wasn’t convinced he’d grown out of his habit of drawing on peoples’ faces while they were unconscious.

Niall and Sammi arrived about noon, and, a couple hours later when they all sat down to eat, Zayn found himself even happier that his friends had decided to do this for Christmas, this year at least.

When the run-up to Christmas had begun in early November - far too early in Zayn’s opinion – he couldn’t help but notice Liam had begun having more frequent sombre spells again, and it didn’t take long for Zayn to realise it was due to the holiday season. Danielle and Liam had been together long enough that they had established their own holiday traditions, around family and gifts and where they went to find a Christmas tree. To carry on those traditions this year, when her absence was still so acute, and their daughter was finally starting to understand some of those rituals, could have been nothing but all sorts of painful.

The other lads agreed. They decided to have a real One Direction Christmas – they still thought of themselves as a collective like that, even if they weren’t really anymore – just them (and Sam and Anastasia by extension). All of them chose to spend the holiday at Harry and Louis’, let their families know they would see them on Boxing Day, or New Year’s, or whenever time allowed. And because they all had families which had grown used to the way these five men depended on each other over the years, they understood.

Zayn didn’t know if Liam knew exactly why they’d planned to do Christmas this way,  _this_  year. It was Louis and Harry’s first chance since the wedding to host something like this as a married couple, and they did love hamming that sort of thing up; and it  _was_  Louis’ birthday right before so it  _was_  something they’d do, making it into a two-day event. But Zayn was pretty sure Liam would have suspected at least part of it; this was Niall and Sammi’s first Christmas since moving in together, so might’ve been expected to spend it alone together; and Liam’s parents had been less than disappointed when Liam informed them he probably wouldn’t make it back for the holiday.

Regardless, Liam had agreed to the plan, packed up all the presents secreted around the house into the boot of the car to be placed under the tree, or hidden until Ana was safely asleep to go into her Santa stocking. He had let Louis impose his family’s Christmas traditions upon them all rather than follow what had become normal for him. And Zayn thought, hoped, it had been making a difference.

There was still a slight sadness clouding his eyes at different times during the day; when Ana opened presents from ‘ _Mummy and Daddy xoxo_ ’, presents which had been bought and wrapped in-store early in the year by Danielle, tags written on herself, almost scarily well-prepared before most people even thought of the holiday season. Which Liam wasn’t even sure of the contents himself until his wee girl opened them with utter delight lighting her face. When he received his own, final gift from Danielle, cufflinks with tiny ‘ _xx_ ’s inscribed on the underside.

But, on the whole, Zayn witnessed more smiles than grimaces. There was more laughter than he’d heard in a long while, and with a combined effort, Liam was never left by himself too long to dwell.

It was a good day. For all of them.

Happiness came in waves. It was agonising.

But it was also hopeful.

***

Twenty-five years young.

So much had changed since Zayn’s last birthday; it wasn’t as extreme as that year where he first met the boys, went from a sixteen year old boy to a popstar, but it was still a lot to take in – especially when most of it had taken place in just the last five months.

If anything, Zayn could definitely say that if you had told him that on his twenty-fifth birthday he would be sitting at Liam’s kitchen table, a chocolate cupcake sitting before him with a brightly burning candle embedded in thick icing, he wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

But if you added the part where Liam was a widower, and while his hand was clasped on Zayn’s shoulder, there was also his not-quite-three-year-old daughter bouncing excitedly in Zayn’s lap, then he probably would have started to express doubts. Especially when Zayn had a hand tousled familiarly into said toddler’s hair, and was murmuring in her ear, “Soon, Taz, soon. I just have to think of a wish, okay? You can’t have a birthday cake without a wish.”

It was just the three of them for now; the sitter was going to be over soon and Zayn and Liam were heading out to meet with the lads for a proper night out, but for now, they wanted to do something which Ana could be a part of as well. And if that was a cupcake with a candle and a handmade card with a vibrant mess of scrambled crayon scribbles on the cover, then that was fine by Zayn.

It was weird, if Zayn stopped to think about it. How a person, and not even a proper person really; just this little human being with a head full of curls that Zayn could almost forget the heritage of some days, could go from this unknown – or maybe ignored – entity to such a large part of his family in such a short amount of time. Because, as unconventional as it might be, that’s what they were now, the three of them. Family.

And Zayn had considered his family for almost nine years now, but this, it was different.

It had been one of Liam’s New Year’s resolutions. Clear out Danielle’s stuff.

Zayn had been a little concerned that, even now, it was too soon. But he also nursed a secret joy that Liam was ready to make that next step in recovering from the grief of the past few months.

And Liam was ready, Zayn thought. He spent more time playing with Ana, less time watching with quiet sadness in his eyes. There was a clarity in his brown eyes which let Zayn see straight into him once more, rather than walled off from view. Less nights where Liam fell asleep on Zayn’s chest, Zayn’s fingers carding rhythmically through his hair. Zayn told himself that it had been a comfort thing, a body occupying the empty space on the other side of the bed, but it didn’t stop him missing those nights, where Liam’s breath ghosted against his neck. He craved warmth too.

They carried black rubbish bags filled with clothes to the car, drove them to the Salvation Army a few suburbs over. Liam had taken out almost everything; there was a small case taken to the spare room’s wardrobe but that was it. Just a couple knick knacks, Danielle’s wedding dress, the jersey which smelled more of Liam than Danielle anymore, her jewellery to be passed onto Anastasia when she was older. Enough for Ana to have something to remember her mother by; to prove she existed when she became barely a dream-like shadow in the corner of early memories.

Zayn had driven them home, focusing on the dim light and the steady beat of the windscreen wipers, letting Liam shed a few quiet tears in relative privacy while Ana sing-songed to herself in the back seat with her raggedy bunny.

Since that day though, Liam had seemed...lighter. It wasn’t so much like a weight had been lifted off him the past week or so, but more that Liam himself had realised he didn’t need to be burdened by grief anymore, that it was ok to smile, to enjoy himself. To find happiness in the life that was standing before him, hand out in offering, ready to take whenever Liam was ready for it. Whatever Liam was ready for.

So sitting in Liam’s kitchen on his birthday, Zayn was struggling to find something to wish for. He had his health, his family, his friends.

Happiness was there, creeping up slowly. But it was steady, there and no longer indistinct.

It was home.

And it wasn’t perfect, there was more he could, and did, wish for as the flame on the candle was extinguished to a small puff of smoke; in the warm burn at his shoulder and low in his stomach. But he was content.

And he was patient.

And that was enough for now.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm can anyone tell that I got major Christmas feels? You wouldn't believe how much headcanon actually got left out as well tbh. Right, and so for those that care here is the link to where Louis and Harry get married in this chapter (http://lfmevents.com/our-spaces/rotunde/). Also, the picture book I referenced is a real book (my favourite as a kid) - 'Owl Babies', by Martin Waddell, which you can also read here (http://foundationsladegreen.edublogs.org/files/2012/06/Owl_babies-1mifkjn.pdf). Idk if you can do links or not on ao3 so that'll do haha  
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific song for this chap - but when I was writing I was listening to 'Another Day' from RENT an awful lot (and just as a side note, I'm currently considering writing a RENT AU...anyone interested in reading that?)

Zayn had almost forgotten he was a fairly successful, rather famous performing artist over the last five months.

When he first came home, he had a scheduled month off already. Four solid weeks where he had been promised there would be no gigs, no interviews, no public appearances unless he decided he wanted them. And with the circumstances surrounding his return, that was exactly what he needed, what was best for everyone.

The advantage that came with age, Zayn had come to realise, really was the experience that came with it. And experience in the music industry had left him with enough of an insight that he more or less knew what was expected of him and, regardless of said expectations, just how much of that he was  _actually_  obliged to do, compared with what they told him he was.

So when the middle of October had approached, bringing the wedding and the end of Zayn’s break, and Zayn knew that he wasn’t ready to come back, not yet, it was time to talk to his management team. He was still with Modest after all that had passed over the years, although his team was different now. They were good people from what Zayn could tell, but they were still focused on making money off of him, which was where the problem lay. Zayn didn’t ask for things very often though, and he was determined about this like he was for little else; they could see that.

It took some compromising on both sides, but it was a good outcome. Appearances were cut down for the next few months, and those which couldn’t be avoided, or needed simply to make sure that Zayn didn’t disappear off the radar, were limited to within the UK and to under three days away from home. Zayn consented to one trip across the Channel, but, again, he would only be doing a whirlwind tour for signings, a couple interviews and a single short gig in each of France and Spain.

His publicists were pretty sure they could spin it positively so that it simply came off as Zayn needing time for own grief and helping his old band mate in his hour of need (and Zayn had to wonder, because wasn’t that exactly what it was?). In return, Zayn was to have at least two workable tracks to present for the new album at the end of the period, and would be going straight into his brand new American tour afterwards.

It wasn’t much to promise in the scheme of things; Zayn did like to write music when he had the chance, and he had thought it might be a good way to get Liam back a bit, to collaborate with his best friend, almost like old times. The tour would have been going ahead in February regardless, so there was never any changing that, and this way he got a much lighter schedule of dreaded training for the tour in the meantime (although he wouldn’t think about how hard he’d be made to work once they were in America); even after all this time, Zayn wasn’t the most skilled of dancers, and he was constantly grateful that his solo style required even less of it than in One Direction.

And then it was almost time to go.

Time to leave the cosy, dysfunctional family he had knitted himself into for a ten week trip where he was Zayn Malik, the handsome and broody musician; leather jackets and flocking girls around every corner. Not Zayn, with grin-sore cheeks, woollen jerseys and sweatpants stained with finger-paints; a one-(baby)girl, one-man( _friend_ ) sort of guy.

But first, there was one more thing to celebrate.

***

The house had been transformed into a mess of purple and silver decorations; bundles of balloons had been attached to every available surface, as well as forming somewhat of a lethal obstacle course as free ones drifted about underfoot. Streamers were already starting to come loose from the walls and banisters, and the party wasn’t even half way done.

Liam had never liked to do things by halves – he cared too much to not go all out when he set his mind to something - and even though Zayn doubted Ana would even remember much about her third birthday in later years, this party had been no exception. He knew that part of it was in an effort to make the first birthday without Danielle that bit easier, so he refused to begrudge him it. Although, as a small horde of toddlers stormed past him while he carried another present to the rather impressive pile in the corner, Zayn wished just a little that Liam had decided upon a family event, and not necessarily the entire class of Anastasia’s new preschool and the associated parents.

At least it wasn’t raining. Winter was finally getting close to its end, and there was a faint warmth in the rays of the early-February sun. This meant that the majority of the kids were running around outside, kicking about a few of the balloons or bouncing and tumbling about the bouncy castle Liam had hired. Zayn thought he could catch a glimpse of curly hair and brand new pink fairy wings through the windows of the castle and smiled. As long as the birthday girl was having a good time, he didn’t think the rest of it really mattered.

Moving away from the door to the backyard, Zayn went to help a slightly flustered looking Karen with refilling snack bowls and putting out more fairy bread; Zayn had thought that they had bought enough to feed an army, but he apparently had underestimated the appetite of twenty odd two and three year olds. Considering the way he’d watched Ana put away pizza the other week, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised by their stamina when it came to junk food; the sandwiches and vege sticks, while still running low, had not been nearly as hard hit.

Once restocked, Zayn looked about for a moment, spinning in a circle in the lounge until he spotted Liam chatting with one of the many mothers present. While he wished there had been a few more Dads around, or guys in general – the lads were around somewhere, but Zayn was pretty sure they were hiding outside with the excuse of entertaining the kids rather than making small talk – he was  still grateful that most of the Mums were still just a tad too old to have been part of their screaming fandom in years past.

Zayn moved to join Liam, leaning on his friend as he introduced himself to the woman with him (“Sophie; Monique’s Mum,” Zayn smiled back politely, good at pretending that he would still remember the name ten minutes later), forearm on Liam’s shoulder making the other man shoot him a look, bending slightly under Zayn’s weight. But there was a smile along with it, one which reached his eyes, so Zayn was satisfied he wasn’t in too much trouble.

He more or less clung to Liam for the next half hour or so as they made their way through the rounds of the guests. Liam seemed to know most of the parents already, and Zayn often got away with only a sentence or two, instead listening and just enjoying Liam’s company, even if the attention wasn’t particularly focused on Zayn.

He was pretty sure there were several sets of eyes on the two of them as they made the circuit of the room, and more than one conversation discussing them, but Zayn couldn’t really bring himself to care. It wasn’t something new; there had been suspicious glances a plenty over the past months at their closeness, at Zayn’s protectiveness, at the fact that Zayn was still living with Liam and Ana, or that the little girl had been heard to slip up occasionally and swap her usual “Unca Zayn” (she still hadn’t quite mastered the ‘le’ part of the title) for “Dad”. It was all true, and none of it was probably normal, but then, they never  _had_  had a normal relationship with each other (friendship, bromance, something unnameable which Zayn didn’t want to question in case it burst like a fragile bubble upon inspection), and if Liam didn’t seem to care about the judgement of others, then Zayn followed his lead.

Liam brought the kids in soon enough for cake. Zayn was dragged to the table with Liam by a bossy birthday girl, made to help blow out her candles after a particularly ear-splitting rendition (Zayn should really limit the sugar intake of Louis and Niall at these things) of ‘Happy Birthday’ before he pulled himself away to take photos of the mass of children around the table, underneath the obnoxiously bright “Happy Birthday Anastasia” banner Harry had helped Zayn paint the day before. They were both quite proud of the effort, and Zayn’d be damned if he wasn’t going to have documented evidence of it.

The one he captured of Liam pressing a noisy kiss to his giggling daughter’s forehead was his favourite, though.

***

By the time everyone had left later that night, Zayn was almost dead on his feet. He couldn’t believe how noisy that many children in the same place could be and, considering his life, that was no mean feat.

The majority of the party had left late afternoon, toddlers starting to meltdown from the excitement of the day and the inevitable sugar crash. Anastasia herself had been carried to bed before it was even dinnertime, sleepily clutching one of her new stuffed toys in her fist (a gift Zayn had managed to hunt down – a Road Runner for his own wee Tazzie). The rest of Liam’s family, Sammi and the lads all left after an enjoyable,  _quiet_  dinner of leftover finger food and a salad the girls had managed to put together; the fact that Zayn had been happy to see the leafy vegetables was probably not a good sign of what he’d been eating the rest of the day.

With the last of their friends off home and the worst of the mess cleared up, Zayn and Liam collapsed into a heap on the couch. They sat in silence for a moment, then shared a look before bursting into shaking laughter.

Zayn groaned a little at the thought of the circus the day had been. It certainly hadn’t been what he’d have thought of when considering his ideal last day at home before he left the country for close to three months. But it had been good. And this, here and now, lying with Liam curled into his shoulder, the remnants of their laughter still reverberating into him, was what Zayn had wanted most of all; just the company and affection of his best mate, who he had become so used to seeing 24/7 that he didn’t quite know how he was going to handle the separation when it once again came. Just the simple comfort of a friend at your side; warmth seeped through Zayn’s shirt where they touched. It was enough of the truth that Zayn could almost believe his own lie.

He could almost believe that there was nothing more than friendship in the way that he gazed down at Liam as their laughter finally slowed and breathing returned to normal; that the silence between them was entirely comfortable and that his arm at Liam’s waist was simply a measure of brother-like affection.

That his breath didn’t catch and his stomach didn’t leap when Liam peered up through his fringe to meet Zayn’s eyes, filled with a pure happiness which crinkled his eyes at the corners, no wrinkles or flecks of grief to be seen in this moment.

Zayn didn’t know what had changed, but the world shifted, nearly imperceptibly, in that moment.

He didn’t know who did what, who moved first and who reached to close the gap.

He didn’t know whether it was right or wrong, but then he’d already given up trying to figure out the meanings of those words.

He didn’t know how or when his hand had moved to knot itself in Liam’s hair, feeling like it was finally home.

What he did know was that suddenly, magnificently, Zayn was kissing Liam.

And, even better, Liam was kissing Zayn back.

  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...ha aren't you glad I'm posting all at once and not making you wait a week like I did first time round?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the Story Ends - The Fray

“What did we do, Zayn?”

***

Liam tasted like home.

Like birthday cake and tea and that undefinable hint of pure Liam.

And this was really happening. Zayn could feel every curve of Liam’s lips pressed heatedly against his own; the muscles of his neck, taut beneath the hand which wasn’t still entwined in Liam’s hair. Could feel Liam’s hands sliding up under his shirt to caress feather-light up Zayn’s spine; touches which made him shiver and arch his back closer to the other man.

Because, uncertain as Zayn had been about anything like this happening, Liam was far from passive in their movements. He elicited a low groan from Zayn as his tongue licked inside Zayn’s mouth, as though trying to learn the taste of him, like Zayn had just a few minutes ago.

Zayn couldn’t help himself keening forward when Liam finally pulled back, flushed a delicious red and panting just out of time of Zayn’s own breathlessness. But, although he disentangled himself from Zayn – somehow they had ended up half lying on the couch, limbs a woven mess – and stood, Liam immediately reached for his hand, mumbling only a quiet “Stay with me tonight?”

And god if his voice wasn’t throaty and already sounding half-wrecked, but even now, still slightly questioning; giving Zayn an out, as if his previous reaction, and his currently far too-tight trousers, weren’t a fairly good indication of his approval.

He linked his fingers through Liam’s and stood, pressing his forehead to the other man’s, lining up their faces for a quiet moment and to drop a chaste kiss to his bright and swollen lips. Leaning away again, he stepped around Liam towards the doorway, tugging gently on their interlocked digits.

“Come on, then.”

Liam didn’t need to be told twice to follow Zayn out of the lounge, flicking the light off as they passed through the door and plunging them into darkness. Zayn couldn’t see him in the sudden black, glad he knew the path up the stairs easily now. He could hear little besides their footsteps and their breathing; still that little bit deeper, more irregular than normal. Liam had let himself be led, rubbing circles into the back of Zayn’s hand. He held back slightly, allowing a gap to remain between them everywhere except that one attachment, but in the dark Zayn could swear he still felt the heat radiating from the other man, making the hair on his arms stand up in anticipation.

He took them to his own room; he wasn’t sure where Liam had had in mind, but he didn’t think he himself could handle doing whatever this was turning into in Liam’s room. It was still so much Liam  _and_ Danielle’s room that it would have weirded Zayn out, let alone what it might do to Liam. However, if he was surprised by the room Zayn had brought him to, Liam didn’t show it; instead, he shifted them back together, until they were touching from hip to chest, locked at the lips.

Liam kicked the door shut behind them – gently; Zayn didn’t want to consider the possibility of waking up the other member of the household right at that minute.

They continued with lazy, unrushed kisses for a few minutes longer, long enough that Zayn could feel a definite hardness at his hip. He smirked as he pulled back – this time it was Liam who gave a low whine at the loss of contact; he turned them and mouthed a trail along Liam’s jaw and down his neck as he walked him backwards until they bumped into the end of the bed.

He dropped them down and crawled up the bed so that his forearms framed Liam’s head and he could duck down for another kiss before continuing his previous path. When he sucked a mark into Liam’s collarbone, Liam let out a whimper and Zayn couldn’t help but respond by grinding his hips down into Liam’s, causing a gasp from one man and a deep groan from the other.

And at this point, Zayn thought there were definitely too many layers of clothes happening between them, and  _definitely_  too much material constricting his swollen cock, painful under the close-fitting denim of his trousers.

Zayn started to yank at his belt, trying to pull it through the loops with uncoordinated fingers, distracted by the butterfly kisses dancing across his jaw. When it finally came loose, another set of hands were there, helping to tug his jeans down and grazing teasingly close to his dick as fingers ran under the elastic of his pants. When those too were removed, Zayn could have moaned with relief at the sensation of his freed cock; did moan into Liam’s open mouth when tentative fingers encircled the base then tightened to stroke firmly upwards, thumb sliding over the head. Resisting the urge to grind down once more, he managed to pull back just enough to reach between them and pop the button on Liam’s pants; never had Zayn been more glad that Liam tended not to wear a belt. Liam got the gist pretty quickly, lifting his hips eagerly so Zayn could tug his pants down with his trousers in one relatively smooth movement which surprised Zayn a little, considering the way his hands had continued to shake with a nervous energy of slight disbelief; that Liam was still definitely here, mostly visible beneath him, lit by the streetlights coming through the un-curtained window, cock standing hard and dark against his shirt from the party, precome starting to bead at the tip.

Liam took advantage of Zayn’s moment of inaction, rolling them over so that now Zayn was staring up into the glint of crinkled eyes for a brief moment, fighting the urge to push back the hair that was falling forward to obscure them, then up at the ceiling as Liam ducked his head to lick a filthy stripe up his neck and behind his ear. Hot breath tickled Zayn’s ear.

“I want you.”

Zayn bit back the groan that threatened, turning it into a garbled, throaty chuckle when Liam moved slightly to tug lightly on Zayn’s earlobe and Zayn had no choice but to release some sort of aborted sound.

“Oh, really?” he bit out, rolling his hips up into Liam’s, making him gasp when Zayn’s erection dragged along his, “I’d nev- never have guessed.”

Liam’s fingers dug blunt crescents into Zayn’s hips and Zayn arched his back, pressing their chests together; Liam gave his own short, breathless bark of laughter. He looked down at their still-clothed torsos, and Zayn felt a finger brush a light trail from his knee up the outside of his naked thigh.

“I feel as though we’ve gone about this backwards, or…upside down or something.”

Zayn felt a lazy smile spread across his features.

“Well, since when have we ever done anything the regular way, eh? Besides,” he slid his hands up under the back of Liam’s shirt; warm, smooth skin turned to goosebumps beneath his touch, “there’s an easy fix for that.”

He went to lift the shirt up, but had forgotten to consider the fit of it, and the buttons securing it to Liam’s frame, all of which promptly caused it to get stuck halfway off. It left Liam with his arms stuck at an awkwardly useless angle, and the noise Zayn made definitely  _wasn’t_  a giggle, but it set Liam off laughing all the same. Both were so busy shaking with laughter that it took several minutes before they could get him disentangled from his fabric entrapment.

***

Liam was looking up at Zayn from his position on Zayn’s chest, familiar from the many nights over the past months (years, really) that they’d dropped off together – although the nudity was mildly more novel – eyes round, still blinking away sleep.

“What did we do?” he repeated, tinged with just the slightest edge of hysteria.

And this,  _this_ , was why Zayn had never acted on those impulses which had been slowly building lately, impatient at his ignoring them. Because he was terrified that they were living in this delicate bubble, shiny and perfect and completely unique to them. And if he moved too much, too fast, too  _anything_ , then they would pop. Zayn would tumble to the ground and only be able to watch as Liam ran.

Liam wasn’t moving away, though.

Yet.

“Nothing, Li. We did nothing.”

***

They were lying side by side now, calming down from their second fit of laughter that night, and now, Zayn sensed that the feverish rush that had been driving them with such intensity up until then seemed to have disappeared with it.

Zayn’s t-shirt had also got lost at some point in the struggle, and Liam was drawing on his naked chest, from one tattoo to the next, focused on the patterns he made rather than looking Zayn in the eye as he murmured a shy “Do you, do you want to…?”

Zayn relaxed into the dancing touches, still horny but also tired, and content enough to recognise that the fervour, which had fired Liam with determination and certainty, had also been extinguished; Zayn loved (the thought slipped out before Zayn could catch it) this quiet, more hesitant version just as much, but he simply lifted a hand to cup Liam’s cheek, a small smile curving his lips when Liam immediately pushed back into it, turned his head to press a kiss to Zayn’s palm.

“Not tonight.”

“But-” Liam dropped his hand from its doodling to cup Zayn’s still semi-hard cock with just enough pressure to have Zayn biting his lip in a smirk; not entirely hesitant, then.

“No, babe,” the endearment rolled off his tongue effortlessly once he’d schooled his expression and moved Liam’s hand back to his chest, entrapped within Zayn’s own; he couldn’t really believe he’d managed to keep from slipping, from admitting his affection before now, “You asked me to stay with you tonight. Well, I’m still here; I’m not saying never…but not tonight, yeah?”

Frown lines still furrowed Liam’s brow, confusion and perhaps a touch of hurt at the refusal, but they smoothed out a lot when Zayn scattered gentle kisses over them, across his forehead, down his nose to finally catch his lips in a slow tangle of tongue and nonsense whispers. His face had completely cleared by the time they separated and Zayn shuffled beneath the covers of the bed, lifting the duvet to allow Liam to crawl in next to him.

Liam lay curled up under his arm, face pressed into Zayn’s neck, almost like he was trying to inhale him. And Zayn had often appreciated how convenient, how nice it was that they had always seemed to fit together like this, like pieces of a puzzle, but now it was a whole other level of intimacy, skin-on-skin contact along the entire length of their bodies. It was comforting.

Zayn stayed awake as he followed Liam’s breathing shift to the deep, even breaths of slumber. He pressed a final kiss to the crown of his head, taking in his own lungful of  _Liam_.

He spoke a final whisper into Liam’s hair before resting his head back and closing his eyes, as though sharing a secret.

“ _If you ask me to stay? Then I will_ always _stay_.”

***

“I…that was hardly nothing, Zayn. We…we-”

Liam was floundering, and Zayn could see that he was probably pretty close to having a full-on freak out, so he dug his hands out from under the layers of blankets to cup Liam’s face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“Okay, maybe not  _nothing_ ,” Zayn very determinedly does  _not_  roll his eyes, “But nothing that is worth worrying about. Hey, it’s not like we haven’t had a snog as mates before-”

He’s cut off by a snort from Liam, and yeah, okay, that’s fair enough because last night was definitely more than the odd time their lips had briefly met back when they were teenagers; when they were standing at the edge, when anything and everything could happen, could become theirs if they just reached out and grabbed it.

Zayn’s expression sobered and he made sure Liam was making eye contact before he spoke because Liam needed to hear this; Zayn needed Liam to hear this.

“It wasn’t nothing; not for me. I’ve- I’ve had some…feelings for you for a while now, I think, and last night was- well it was pretty fucking brilliant, wasn’t it?” Liam looked as though he might respond, but Zayn cut him off before he had a chance. “And I know that it wasn’t nothing for you either, Liam, that it was the first time that you’ve done anything since…since Danielle. But that’s pretty much it, isn’t it; I don’t know what you feel for me, what you’re feeling right now, but I know what you felt for her. And I haven’t felt that for someone before, not yet, but I know you don’t just get over something like that. I don’t know how you do, but I didn’t, don’t, want you to do it by throwing yourself at someone, especially not at me. Because I can’t do that, I can’t be the rebound. I care too much.”

There were tears beginning to run down Zayn’s wrists; he had been wiping at them as the escaped Liam’s eyes with a determined focus as he spoke; ignoring the pricking in his own. Liam still stared up at him silently, shining with remembered love and loss but still clear; no hint of returning clouds of raw grief.

“That’s why I stopped last night. I care, Li. Don’t make me be the rebound. Please.”

***

Zayn dropped into his seat and stared out the window, absentmindedly watching the airport workers shifting baggage to the rear of the plane.

He was glad he’d packed the majority of his gear the day before, prior to Ana’s party; he and Liam had talked a long while that morning, had barely finished their discussion when a wide-awake Anastasia bounded into Zayn’s room (there were still words balancing on the tip of his tongue, only to be swallowed when the newly-three year old jumped onto the bed), apparently unperturbed by the sight of her dad and Zayn shirtless – and the rest, but bedcovers disguised that for now, at least – in his bed.

After that there was the usual last minute rush to grab that last 5% of Zayn’s belongings which always seemed to take almost as long as the other 95% all by itself, and then they were out the door and on their way to drop Zayn at the airport for his flight direct to L.A.

Saying goodbye was hard.

It was just the three of them at the airport; he had said goodbye to everyone else already, at the party, and would be meeting the boys from his band in the waiting lounge once he’d checked in. There was also the constant factor of fans and paparazzi around, so Zayn couldn’t necessarily act as he would if he were at their place.  _Liam’s_  place, he mentally corrected.

He still wrapped Ana up in a bear hug when she attached herself to him, insisted quietly that “I’ll be home soon, ‘kay, Tazzie-bear? Be good for your Dad, you hear?” He promised it multiple times to her, hoping she’d understand.

Liam had told him the other week how, when he had finally tried to talk to Ana about Danielle, when he told her that Mummy wasn’t coming back again, she’d accepted it quietly. He had told her that Danielle had gone away, far away and couldn’t come back, because she was dead now, and dead people can’t come visit no matter how much you miss them, no matter how much they miss you. Liam hadn’t been certain she’d really understood much of it, but he’d figured it was enough for now; it was better if she didn’t in some ways, wasn’t haunted by ghosts. Except then, only a few days ago, when Zayn had been out having lunch with Harry, Liam had been talking to Anastasia about Zayn’s trip. And the little girl had looked up at her father with wide, innocent eyes and asked, “Is Unca Zayn gonna be dead too?”

Zayn had held his friend in his arms for long minutes as he recounted the indescribable feeling which had rushed through him at the question; more than simple shock, not quite terror, almost devastation. Liam had bent down to Ana, taken her shoulders and stared into her eyes, carbon copies of his own and whispered furiously, “No, Ana. No. Uncle Zayn is coming back. He has to go away for work, to play his music. But he is coming back.”

_He is coming back. He is coming back. Heiscomingback._

In the airport, Zayn and Liam only gazed quietly at each other – “ _You need me to stay? I’ll stay, I will, I’ll-” “No,” a tight smile, “I’ll be okay. I’ll be- you go.”_  – before Zayn reached out and pulled the other man in for a brief embrace. Then there was only one last tousle of Ana’s curls before he had begun to move away, turning back to wave at the toddler reaching out to him from her perch where Liam had scooped her into his arms.

“Bye guys! See ya Taz; I’ll miss you!”

_I love you._

***

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look After You - The Fray (yes I realise just how many chaps are inspired by their songs, yes I possibly have a problem, yes lets please leave it at that)

The tour was  _long_.

It was intensive. Ten weeks of near solid performances was always going to be draining and, as anticipated, Zayn’s delaying preparation for it only lead to even harder rehearsals once they touched down in the States.

The tour seemed to visit what felt like every single city in North America; there were close to 50 main gigs, plus the promotional gigs alongside the interview circuit. Not only did it cover the US but a decent number of concerts were also held in Canada, and a couple were performed when they dipped down into Mexico. Zayn fell into his usual practice of completely forgetting where they were, or heading, and simply asking someone else before they went on-stage who it was he was supposed to be thanking that particular night.

But it was more than that.

Zayn was an old hand at this by now; long days, often longer nights, cramped tour buses and far too much takeaway. He had been doing this for seven years now, travelling and performing and maybe wearing himself out more than he should; but hey, there were rest days for a reason and he could deal with it. And yet, this time, Zayn found himself yearning for home, counting down the days ‘til he could fly back to England in a way that he couldn’t ever remember doing before. Not even that first time, young and excited and overwhelmed, when homesickness was hiding in wait for any moment when it was just a little too quiet in Zayn’s head.

He knew the difference this time; sometimes, he’d even let himself admit it. That being separated by an entire ocean and multiple time zones from Liam and Ana was more painful than leaving home had ever been before. Even though - and maybe because - they often seemed so close Zayn could almost touch them.

Zayn Skyped them when he could; usually every couple of days if he could manage it; generally, he had a break mid-afternoon after sound-check and before concert prep that coincided well with just before Ana’s bedtime. He rationalised his frequent calls when he saw a rugged-up Anastasia cosy and warm in her father’s arms, grinning and waving still-chubby hands at the screen. After Liam had told Zayn about her ‘queries’ regarding his absence, Zayn hadn’t wanted her to go too long without seeing him, wanted to make sure she knew that Zayn was safe, happy and healthy. It might not have been entirely true; he wasn’t entirely happy without his irregular family, and it was the lower chuckle more than the childish giggle it accompanied that sent the wide, warm smile spreading across Zayn’s features. But those were not things which she’d be able to tell, or which a three-year-old needed to know. For Ana, it was enough to see her favourite uncle pulling faces at her, reading a picture book he had found at the bookstore for her bedtime story, and making smoochie noises to the cheek she pressed up to the camera before Liam carried her off to bed; a dull ache was always left in Zayn’s chest as his laptop beeped the call’s disconnection.

While he had tried not to get his hopes up, he had thought he might have seen them at least once while he was away, and so his spirit had drooped a little about a month in when Liam had turned down the invite to have them flown over for a few days while Zayn was in Florida for a couple days rest. Zayn had thought that Ana might enjoy visiting Disney World; she loved the animated films almost as much as her Dad (unsurprisingly, considering the amount of exposure she got). While Zayn had definitely not planned it all out in his head (mouse ears and teacup rides and gorging both himself and Tas on far more junk food than was wise), he was still disappointed when Liam gently suggested that maybe it’d be better if Zayn spent the break recuperating between concerts; after all, Anastasia wouldn’t even remember the trip probably if she went now. Maybe in a few years.

Zayn was torn after that discussion; his deflated heart had picked up a bit at the off-hand promise of “in a few years”, at the idea that a trip like that would still be an option for them that far in the future. It was still a shutdown though. And Zayn knew that what Liam said was true, but it wasn’t as though they couldn’t have come over anyway; cost wasn’t exactly a barrier, and god knew that they’d all had family and friends – and girlfriends - flown out to see them on tour at some point or another. It didn’t need to have been a big deal.

Zayn didn’t say anything though. He just let Liam explain to him that Ana really was still too young to travel on a long haul flight, while Zayn tried to figure out where exactly he stood at the moment with Liam.

Liam needed time to think; Zayn knew that. Had known it as they lay in bed the morning he left and the silence filled the air after Zayn had finished speaking. Liam needed time to figure out what it was that he wanted, what he and he alone needed right now; whether – and how –  Zayn fitted into that picture.

And Zayn needed his own space; a chance to clear his head, figure out just how much he was willing to do for Liam, because he knew that if they did this, they were  _doing_  this. That much had been made certain, and it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them. Yes, there was another person to consider, someone who didn’t deserve to have her world turned upside down any more times in her short life. And yes, there was Liam, healing slowly, although still mangled and scarred just beneath the surface.

But there was also Zayn.

Zayn, who had never been able to make a relationship last a year, no matter how hard he dragged at the remnants of it. Zayn, who had realised late in his teens that his sexuality wasn’t exactly in accordance with the heteronormative, but who had never really been given, or given himself, the chance to find out what that actually meant. Who only knew boys, men, as something to slide his gaze over before directing it to a more ‘appropriate’ target; to tug discreetly into a darkened alley, or a fancy (lonely) hotel room; something to use and find what small pleasure he could.

Zayn. Who was quite frankly terrified of his own feelings. Scared shitless by his realisation that he knew exactly how much he would give of himself to Liam. For Liam. Anything.  _Everything._

Who doubts every look, every smile in their own conversations; late enough in Zayn’s time zone when he finally gets back to his room or his bunk in the bus, a ridiculous hour back in England. Liam turns up anyway, rumpled and sleepy, but there. Always there, and yet the glow his presence brings out in Zayn is always tempered by insecurity; every hesitation, each time a weary hand runs through his hair (flailing slightly as it meets air too soon – he got it trimmed again not long after Zayn left) it’s as though someone starts to press against the wall of their balloon. They aren’t trapped in a delicate bubble anymore; hope has strengthened the walls just enough, but too much pressure and it will still burst just as easily.

There was hope though - and it fluttered against Zayn’s ribs when he let himself push aside the doubts - that maybe it would all work out. He could make it all work out.

But there was only so much he could do from halfway across the world.

He missed Liam. He missed both of them.

He missed the Zayn he was around them.

The tour was long. But it’d be over soon.

And then he could go home.

***

Liam helped Zayn carry his bags through the airport and out to the car so that Zayn could leave a hand resting on Ana, keeping her steady as she rode head and shoulders above everyone. Her legs were locked around Zayn’s neck and her small hands alternated between yanking her fingers through his unstyled hair and patting fondly at his stubbled cheeks, as if reassuring herself that her uncle was really there.

She had managed to wriggle out of the clutch Liam had on her hand to more or less launch herself at Zayn as soon as she had spotted him entering the arrivals lounge. Since then she had refused to be detached from him, clinging stubbornly to his side and demanding Zayn’s attention.

Liam was more…restrained, Zayn supposed, in his greeting. But he couldn’t hide the way his face lit up when Zayn grinned at him, all of a sudden oblivious to whatever story Ana was jabbering in his ear as Zayn took in what a grainy webcam could never do justice to.

Liam. He looked good. Not that this was exactly news to Zayn, but he was looking more like Liam, his friend, rather than Liam, recent widower. As much as he’d been improving in the months before Zayn left on tour, Zayn could already sense a lightness about him that had only very rarely shown itself up until then (the day of Anastasia’s birthday was probably the most prominent example in Zayn’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about that right now – not until they’d had the discussion that they’d promised they would have on Zayn’s return).

He still looked tenser than Zayn would’ve liked, his stance not quite as loose as he was trying to portray, and the smile was quickly brought under control. But when Zayn reached him and brought him in close for a one-armed hug, Ana half-trapped between their chests, Liam relaxed into the embrace.

Zayn had pressed his face into the fabric of Liam’s hoody, inhaling the scent from it and pressing himself closer to the other man; at that moment he didn’t really care if anyone could see them, if they were questioning their behaviour, or if anyone had a camera trained on them right now. No matter what else they were, they had been the best of friends first, and this had  _always_  been how they interacted. Zayn wasn’t going to deny himself of it now.

Because, as he carefully lifted Ana off of his shoulders - making her shriek with laughter when he pretended to drop her before placing her into her car seat in the back – and his eyes followed Liam as he walked around to the driver’s door, Zayn knew.

He was home.

***

“Maybe it would be a better idea if you didn’t worry about unpacking yet?”

Zayn stopped at the doorway and turned to look askance at Liam; it may have come out a question, but there was enough of something, determination maybe, in his tone that Zayn didn’t really think it had been meant as a suggestion.

It was starting to get late and Zayn had figured he’d best go unpack now before he got too tired; he knew from years of experience that if he didn’t get everything away pretty quickly then he would wind up living out of his suitcase on the floor for about a week until he ran out of clean clothes.

And since Anastasia had finally been put to bed after almost falling asleep cuddled into Zayn’s side on the sofa, Zayn was still standing from carrying her to her bedroom and tucking her in; it made him more motivated than if he was once again cosy and settled on the couch. Liam even offered to make them tea and if Zayn really got moving then he could probably have the majority shoved in drawers or thrown in a pile in the laundry by the time he was done.

He’d said as much to Liam, but then Liam had spoken and now Zayn was frozen, not quite out in the hall, as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the words.

Zayn had thought Liam might speak again, offer up some sort of explanation to him, but Liam was standing awkwardly at the other side of the room now, part way to the kitchen and suddenly seeming unsure of himself.

“I, uh…okay? Any reason why not?”

Liam exhaled heavily and scratched at the back of his head, tugging on the hair there – a gesture Zayn knew meant Liam wasn’t comfortable with the situation – before moving back towards the sofa and looking up at Zayn. By this point Zayn was standing by the coffee table next to him, instinctively following Liam when he moved to sit.

“I…we said that the tour was going to give us time to think, yeah?”

The promise of tea seemed forgotten, and a heavy feeling began to settle in Zayn’s stomach; he wasn’t sure he was going to like what would follow those words, judging by what he saw when he looked into Liam’s eyes.

Here it was, then. The conversation Zayn knew was coming, and which he had been so hopeful about, finally so sure in his own feelings, even if they did terrify him.

 “Yeah, Li. We did. And I thought a lot about it all, about us. Did you?”

Liam was enough of a hope – a promise for something bright and shiny and true - to keep Zayn grounded in his fears and insecurities; he was enough to stop him from running.

“Same. I mean, yeah. I spent a lot of time thinking about it too. And I guess- I think that maybe it’d be a good idea if you moved back home.” For a second, Zayn was genuinely confused; this  _was_  his home, even if he didn’t actually own it. It was more of a home to him than- oh.

“You want me to go back to my apartment?”

What if Zayn still wasn’t enough to keep Liam here next to him?

“Yeah,” Liam’s voice was barely audible, and he wouldn’t look Zayn in the eye, ducking his head instead. Zayn sort of wanted to tease him because his fringe wasn’t long enough anymore for that action to hide him from view, but this felt a lot like rejection and he was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

“Why?” They both ignored the crack in Zayn’s voice.

“This was never supposed to be permanent. You’ve been there for me so much since…for the last few months. I needed someone and you were there and you know I’ve appreciated it,  _we’ve_  appreciated it, I mean Ana loves you to bits,”  _But_ , “I just figured you’d rather go back to your own place. This isn’t the life you chose. A three year old that isn’t yours. Me. You should go and do whatever you want to be doing, have fun; shag a string of girls, or boys, or whatever. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Since when have I ever told you that that isn’t the life I chose? You think you forced me to stay here? This isn’t supposed to be about any of that. This is about you and me. About how you feel about me.” Zayn tried to disregard parts of Liam’s speech, because it sounds rehearsed, forced. Designed to hurt.

“I  _feel_ …” Liam met Zayn’s gaze and his face was blank, “I feel like I was widowed a week after I turned 23. Like my world was turned on its head and seven months later I’m only just finding my feet again, only just remembering how to function as me. I feel like Anastasia is the most important thing in my life right now and she doesn’t need anything more confusing in her life. And I thought you’d understand that.”

Liam hadn’t answered a single part of Zayn’s question, and this wasn’t the Liam Zayn knew; it wasn’t the one who always dealt with the issue, who didn’t necessarily enjoy doing it but would always face it head on. Zayn wondered how long this had been building, if this was the reason for the nagging feeling that Zayn had felt for weeks that Liam was pulling away from him. But then he thought of dim lighting and Liam staring bleary eyed at his laptop at 4am with his blankets rucked all the way up around his neck and the computer balancing on his chest talking about anything and nothing. He recalled the way Liam gripped his waist that afternoon at the airport when Zayn hugged him. And he remembered Liam still hadn’t actually told him how he felt. Not about Zayn.

“You know what  _I_  think?” Zayn was trying to be gentle, but his voice was slowly rising and for the first time in almost as long as he could remember he realised he was  _angry_  with Liam. “I think you’re avoiding the question. I think you feel something here too. I think you’re shit scared because you feel something and you know it’s about as far from nothing as you can get and that terrifies you because yeah, last time you let someone become part of your world like that, when you let that someone  _become_  your world, you lost them. But I’m not asking that of you. You loved Danielle, I know that, and I know that she shouldn’t have died and that she should still be here with you and Tas and you should be young and happy and here and together, and I would be young and mostly happy somewhere else. I know that. I know that everything still seems wrong without that, and that it maybe hasn’t been enough time for you to let go of that future. I know that others watch what we do and don’t get it because you’re you and I’m me and, completely disregarding the obvious issues people have with that, they think that Danielle’s barely cold in the ground and you’re busy playing happy families with some guy. I know you care about that, what others think. You think I’m not frightened too? You hinted at it yourself; I have a certain reputation, and it’s definitely not one of perfection. I’m a total fuck-up, really. And I’m constantly scared that I will just end up dumping a whole pile of that on you and Ana because the idea of screwing you up with my shit makes me want to puke. But guess what. None of that matters. It really,  _truly_  doesn’t. You go what you go through and you feel what you feel, and if you have a chance to be  _happy_? You’re supposed to take it.  _You_  are enough to make me want to stay and figure it out. Am I enough for you?”

Liam wasn’t looking at Zayn, and there was only a ringing silence holding them in that moment that felt like an age.

And then Liam looked up, and there weren’t tears this time, but his voice was hoarse and straining as the words tumbled out. An apology.

“I can’t.”

Zayn left the room.

***

Zayn’s phone rang.

He saw the light glowing in the darkness over on the floor, halfway across the room; he must have left it in his pocket when he shucked his clothes off after he got back to the apartment.

Sluggishly, and with some frustration (it’s 4:15am for fucks sake, if he’s reading his alarm clock correctly) he disentangles himself from the single sheet covering his bed. It’s getting close to midsummer, and tonight was one of those rare nights where, even naked and alone in his bed, it was too warm to be really comfortable. Still, Zayn had always liked having something pulled up and tucked around his shoulders while he slept.

He finally found his phone just as it clicked over to voicemail, but since he was already up he figured he might as well answer it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Zayn? It’s Liam. I need you. Please...it’s Ana.”

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - aren't you glad I'm not /actually/ leaving you on a cliffhanger?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran  
> 1000 Years - Christina Perri (hush I wrote this and listened to that song before I knew it was Twilight ok?)

“Liam?”

Zayn’s voice is rough, and his sleep-addled brain is still trying to catch up with the last thirty seconds of his life.

“Zayn, I’m…I’m at the hospital,” Liam’s voice sounds strained and near breaking. Zayn tries not to think about the only other time he’s heard Liam like this because Anastasia- she has to be fine.

“Please; will you come? I need- Will you come for Ana?”

Zayn falters, but only out of his own need to register what is happening, to push down unnamed, unwanted feelings; he’s already tugging on an old pair of sweats that he finds on the floor.

“Yeah,” he nods to himself, even though Liam can’t see him, “for her.”

He scribbles down the hospital and ward information Liam gives him, and is out the door as soon as he can pull on a hoodie.

The entire trip, Zayn stares resolutely out the window of the cab and chants to himself  _for her, for Ana, for Tas_ until it becomes an endless siren in his head. _For herAnaTas._

It’s not enough to drown out the whisper.

_For him._

***

Zayn walks through the door of the hospital and tries to follow the directions Liam had given him with as much confidence as possible; attempts to hide his terror that someone will question his being there, his right to see his…Anastasia.

He finds Liam in the waiting area of the surgical ward, head all but between his knees and Zayn wants to hold him; every fibre of his being is burning with the need to comfort him, to go against everything he has spent the past months trying to beat back and smother.

Only the twitch of his fingers against his leg gave any sign of Zayn’s inner argument as he approached the huddled figure.

“What’s happened, Liam? Is she okay?” The words come out low and a little desperate. It might just be the most emotion Zayn has allowed himself to express around Liam since he left; it only took one phone call for everything to be flipped one-eighty once more.

Because Zayn can’t stop Liam looking up at him with chocolate eyes, with fears and cracks which bring back too many memories. And he can’t stop Liam from latching onto Zayn like an anchor, dragging him into the hard plastic seat next to him. He doesn’t stop Liam from searching out the familiar safety of an arm around his shoulder and his face at Zayn’s neck. And he doesn’t stop  _himself_  from rubbing his thumb into Liam’s upper arm in steady, calming patterns while Liam tries to explain how they had ended up in a hospital at five in the morning, on a non-descript Wednesday, wrapped around each other like the world was ending.

Fortunately, the world isn’t ending; not today. Liam slowly recounts the story; Zayn learns Anastasia is off in a theatre somewhere, having surgery performed, which should be terrifying but the more Zayn hears, the more he finds the bands which had been constricting his ribs – forcing the air from his lungs and refusing to let it back in – begin to relax.

Anastasia had been feeling miserable most of the afternoon; Liam had put it down to a childhood bug, there was a cold going around her friends - she hadn’t seen much of them lately due to the summer break, but there had been someone’s birthday the previous weekend. She didn’t have a runny nose or a cough, but she hadn’t been too interested in dinner, and Liam had noticed she felt a bit warm when he gave her a bath. Still, just because it was July didn’t mean people didn’t get the flu, so Liam gave her some liquid paracetamol and tucked her into his own bed so that she didn’t have to call out or come find him if she felt ill during the night.

When he was woken up a little after one a.m. to a grizzly girl who’s damp curls were matted to her forehead and, soon after waking her father, threw up rather spectacularly (thankfully into the bowl he’d had the forethought to place next to the bed), Liam was concerned. And when he took in her pale features yet flushed cheeks, her glazed eyes and the temperature that was edging closer and closer to 40 degrees, Liam was worried enough that he wrapped Ana’s p.j. clad body in a soft blanket, pressed a cool, damp flannel to her forehead and placed her gently in the car, driving her straight to A and E, trying not to think of big, scary words like  _meningitis_.

For what is probably the first example Zayn has ever heard of, Liam and Ana were taken almost straight through to see a doctor when they reached the hospital, only having to fill out a couple forms before they were waved through to the next room. Liam tried not to overhear words similar to the ones he had been trying to avoid for the past hour and a bit, spoken in undertones by those around him.

But, in the best piece of luck of the night, it only took a brief examination by Dr Mackenzie – a youngish woman who’s eyes had widened ever so slightly as she compared the faces before her to the names on the admissions form, but who was as professional and kind as anyone could be expected to be in a busy hospital, let alone at three in the morning – to determine that Liam’s biggest fear could be put to rest. When Anastasia had cried out sharply in pain, not as the doctor had pressed on her tummy, but when she lifted her hand back off, almost in a bouncing movement, Dr Mackenzie had given herself a small nod and, after apologising to both Ana and Liam for the distress the exam had caused, and having completed a couple other checks, she told Liam that they were going to take Ana up to the surgical floor to have her appendix removed. Appendicitis wasn’t common in children her age, but there were more than enough cases for her to know that there was a high chance of rupture - and therefore severe complications - if they didn’t take her through immediately.

There wasn’t much time for Liam to take in what was happening, to try and explain to a whimpering and cuddly toddler what was going to happen, before they took Anastasia away to be prepped for surgery. Dr Mackenzie stayed behind with him briefly, having passed Ana’s care onto the surgical team, before returning to the next patient in the overly fluorescent waiting room; she had hesitantly squeezed his shoulder, given him a warm smile, had asked if there was anyone they could call to come sit with him, be with him while he waited. Liam had told her  _no, she only has me_ , and had been directed to the correct waiting area, where someone would come find him when Anastasia was done, ready to be moved to the paediatric wing.

It had been sitting there alone that Liam had realised that it wasn’t fair or true, what he had said to the doctor; whether he had admitted it or not lately, Liam knew there was someone who cared about Ana nearly as much as he did. Who would come if she needed them.

He called Zayn.

***

Zayn had broken much of his contact with Liam, after he moved back out of the house and returned to his apartment; only seven months later than – and a million months before – he had intended to.

It was a loss of contact that felt completely foreign because, even when Liam was a newlywed and Zayn was busy forging a solo name for himself, they had still made the effort. And even if Zayn saw more of Liam now than during that period of time, there was still an empty void stretching galaxies between them across the room; a distance which seemed unsurpassable.

Because they did see each other regularly enough; Zayn was busy recording and the long days left him precious little free time, but Liam still brought Ana over when he had days off to visit him. It was a little strange for both her and Zayn because, even though they were now in the same city, Ana probably saw her Uncle Zayn less often than when he was halfway across the world on tour. It was balanced somewhat by the fact that now she got to see him in person; he was there to play and chase and tumble with, to have her own box of toys in the corner of the lounge just for when she visited the apartment. But there was also the fact that, whether Ana saw it as a plus or minus, this time she had Zayn all to herself; there was never any Liam to be seen. He dropped her off, would exchange a couple meaningless comments with Zayn – almost like they were no more than acquaintances, or high school friends you never cared enough to keep in touch with – then would offer up excuses to duck out and get groceries, or run to an appointment, until he came to pick Ana up and by then it was close to dinnertime and he had  _put on a casserole this morning so sorry we can’t stay._

They were also ensured to spend at least one night a week together – usually it was Friday - which was set aside for their ‘group date night’, as Harry lovingly referred to them, and which he religiously nagged them all about endlessly if they even considered skipping.

Sometimes he thought he saw Harry glancing sadly between Zayn and Liam on their nights out, each sitting at opposite ends of their table or booth or simply standing as far apart as was ever physically possible in a tight-knit circle of five. And Zayn was aware that they didn’t interact in a way that was normal for  _Zayn and Liam_ , even discounting the time since September when they had been near inseparable; he could still feel a wire tugging at his chest, taut and frayed but steadfastly leading him straight to Liam (and he could never figure out if it was trying to tug itself out of its attachment to Liam, to finally free him, or whether it was still doggedly trying to pull Zayn back in close, to chase after his heart, hiding somewhere deep within Liam’s chest, his hands, his eyes). But he had kidded himself that maybe the others hadn’t noticed just how forced their relationship had become; of course they had, they still knew each other better than they knew themselves for the most part. They had just all seemed to, for a reason Zayn wasn’t entirely sure of, left them both to sort themselves out in their own mulish time.

Zayn could never quite decide if he was grateful or not.

***

The night’s events don’t take long to retell; probably only a quarter hour has passed since Zayn first entered the ward.

In that time, the wall had been broken down between them, completely for the first time Zayn thought since the night of Anna’s birthday. But it had also rebuilt itself almost as quickly; by the time Liam finishes speaking he is fully back in his own seat; the only sign of support remaining is the hand which lingers on Liam’s shoulder, and which he seems to show no sign of shrugging off. Zayn leaves it there.

They fall into silence; not uncomfortable but still slightly on edge, and it isn’t just the waiting for some sort of news, although their heads lift up each time a nurse walks past or the door swings open.

Zayn tries to covertly study Liam next to him, whose gaze has returned to inspecting the flecked linoleum floor. His frame looks curled in on itself and his hands clasp onto each other until his interlocked knuckles are white and shaking with the mindless tapping of his foot.

He looks wracked with guilt, Zayn realises.

Zayn isn’t mad with Liam anymore; if he ever really was. He knows that for weeks after he took his still-packed bags to his lavish and lifeless apartment he was mad  _at_  Liam; but it was his decision and its non-conformance to his own which he was angry with, not Liam himself. And as time went on the frustration turned ever further towards himself, more so than it ever was with the man which, even now, he could feel the emotions he’d thought he’d buried starting to resurface, as unhelpful as they were.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Zayn’s voice is quiet in the near empty room, tentatively breaching the divide between them, and his fingers can feel the tensing of Liam’s muscles at the broken silence. Zayn doesn’t remove his hand though; if anything he digs the tips of his fingers in a little harder when Liam shakes his head.

“You know what can happen if your appendix ruptures?” Liam doesn’t wait for a response, small voice getting smaller as he continues. “You can die. Not very often, but in kids like Ana, that are so little, you can die.”

“But Liam. Ana’s appendix didn’t rupture. You told me they got to it in time.”

“It hadn’t ruptured when they took her away. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen since. She’s been gone for over an hour and a half now; they said it wasn’t a long procedure…what if something’s gone wrong? I should’ve brought her in sooner; she wasn’t well, I  _knew_  she was sick. I should have brought her to the hospital earlier, taken her to the doctor yesterday afternoon.”

“Li, you did  _everything_  any good parent would do when their kid was sick. She wasn’t that crook when you put her to bed; you gave her some Calpol to bring her fever down – I know that was about all my Mum ever did for us when we were sick, and it hasn’t even been a whole day since she came down with it. Hell, you put her in bed with you, no matter that if she’d had some bug you’d probably have gotten sick too. And I  _know_  how much you hate getting sick; how bloody grumbly and bitchy you get. It’s enough to rival Lou,” Zayn spots the ghost of a smile, brief as it is, “You put so much blame on yourself sometimes; so much responsibility and burden for every little action of those around you that you can’t see all the good you do – how much it outweighs any tiny, unintentional slip ups. No one else would’ve done anything more than you, Liam. I don’t think you  _could’ve_. You’re the reason she  _did_  get here in time.”

Liam is looking at him now, really looking at him for the first time in what feels like forever. And he looks as though he wants to believe what Zayn is saying, but just isn’t sure he can. It feels a lot like déjà vu.

“I can’t lose her, Zayn. She’s all I have left.”

And Zayn can’t control the sharp intake of breath that strips painfully over his teeth, because there was the reminder that he shouldn’t even be here right now. Liam wasn’t his, even though Zayn still sits there feeling far too much like Liam’s. It should be cruel really, making him come back, time and time again.

But Liam was never cruel.

“First Danielle was taken from me. And I know now, I think…I’ve come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t have done anything about it, even if we shouldn’t have- but then there’s  _you_. Wonderful, beautiful Zayn who saved me. You know that, right? That you saved me? But you I pushed away. I could have had you, I realise now that I wanted to have you, wanted everything you put on offer. And instead I let me fear get the best of me and I shoved you away; not only from me but from Ana. And I’m so sorry for that. For all of our sakes. I’m sorry I screwed up and I’m sorry I called. And I’m sorry because I feel like I failed Ana now on top of everything else and she was the one thing left that I hadn’t made a mess of, that I hadn’t lost. And I can’t lose her too, Zayn.”

 _He can’t- he can’t really think that._ But it is Liam, after all.

Still, Zayn just has to stare in wonder at the ducked head next to him, dropped in shame and resignation, to try to figure out just how clueless and guilt-ridden a single man could be, when he had little to no blame to bear. Well, maybe not blameless, but insignificant compared to the sheer goodness that Zayn knows radiates from him.

Zayn is as in trouble as he ever was when it comes to Liam. He was fool to pretend otherwise.

And he can’t quite put it into words right now – how wrong Liam is – so he lets his instinct and his heart take over for once.

Zayn softly,  _softly_ , brushes a thumb over the half hidden cheekbone, tenderly cupping Liam’s face as he leans down to press the most chaste of kisses, but which is spilling at the brim with the most unadulterated adoration, to Liam’s forehead. He allows his eyelids to flutter shut for the shortest of moments;  _home_  finally found once more in the stark sterility of a hospital-

“Mr Payne? Liam Payne?”

Both men almost leap out of their skins at the voice by the nurse’s station. A woman with a tired appearance but sharp eyes is giving them a look which pointedly asks for a response. Liam’s fingers are gripping Zayn’s knee in an almost deadening grasp, but he releases them as he stands, finding his voice.

“Yes? Yes, that’s me. Is it Anastasia? Is she okay?”

The nurse’s face softens considerably at Liam’s obvious earnestness, and holds an arm out directing behind her.

“Your daughter’s fine, Mr Payne. She’s only just come out of recovery a few minutes ago. I can show you where her room is now, if you’d like.”

“Please.”

Liam drags Zayn from the seats by his elbow towards the nurse. As they pass her to go through the door she’s holding open however, Zayn feels another firm touch to his arm. He looks down in confusion to the nurse and her hold on his jacket.

“I’m afraid only family can go through just now. Go home and get some sleep; visiting hours start again at 8:30.”

Liam spins on his feet and he levels a look which Zayn knows from experience could currently persuade the devil himself, but which could harden in a moment to the most formidable glare, likely to terrify the very same devil.

“He is family. He’s her uncle,” Liam says firmly, kindly as ever but leaving no room for discussion, “He  _is_  our family.”

The nurse purses her lips, and looks almost ready to argue, but Zayn had thought she looked like an astute sort of woman, and she doesn’t fail that initial assessment, sighing in wearied defeat and pushing past them both with a resigned, “Fine. Come on then.”

Zayn lets Liam walk through the door into Ana’s hospital room first, but even if Liam hadn’t already been making his way towards her, Zayn would have been able to pick her out instantly in the four-bed room; only one bed is free and the small lump in the far left corner definitely belongs to his Tazzie-devil. She looks so tiny and delicate, still connected to an IV line, although he’s glad to see she doesn’t have any other scary looking tubes or machines attached to her little body; he wasn’t sure what to expect. Zayn has only ever been to hospital with broken bones, or, when he was quite young, there are hazy memories of visiting his Mum in hospital after his sisters were born.

The nurse speaks in gentle, hushed tones as they watch the quiet rise and fall of Ana’s chest. “She’s been given enough drugs that she’ll sleep a couple more hours yet; she’s just letting her body recover a bit,” she must see Liam’s face begin to falter, because she quickly adds, “She’s fine, the surgery went well and they managed to get the appendix out before it ruptured, but it’s still a lot for a wee body to handle, isn’t it? She just needs to sleep it off. As do you, I’d bet.”

Liam really does look dead on his feet, and Zayn can almost guarantee he isn’t much better off. The nurse – and Zayn is starting to feel bad that he didn’t read her nametag when they were still in the brightly lit corridor – nods towards the empty bed next to Ana’s. “No one will mind too much if one of you crashes in that one there. I can always see if there’s a cot lying around somewhere, if you’d like; there’s usually a few about for parents who need to spend the night.”

“Thank you,” Liam’s voice is warmer than Zayn has heard it tonight, and probably much longer; relief flooding it now that he can see his daughter again, not looking too worse for wear considering her ordeal. “I think we’ll be fine, but we appreciate it all the same.”

The nurse glances between the two of them and Zayn gives what he hopes is a grateful smile to the woman.

“Alright, then. The doctor will be around in the morning and will let you know how everything is going. In the meantime, try and get some rest and, if you’re worried about anything, press that button just there – you see it? – and one of the paeds nurses will come sort you out.”

“Thank you,” Liam repeats, barely a whisper, as the nurse leaves them alone with Anastasia in the dimly lit room.

They stand there for a minute or five, just watching, confirming the sight before them, but eventually Zayn speaks.

“You should really take a nap, Li. You look shattered; you heard what she said, Ana won’t wake up for a while longer. I can sit and watch her while you have some shut eye.”

“No, I don’t think I could sleep right now, anyway. Think I might just sit by her bed for a bit, yeah? But you should definitely have a rest; you don’t have to stay if you don’t want, you know.”

If he wasn’t so aware of three sleeping children in the room, Zayn probably would have snorted and sworn at Liam for being so stupid, but as it is, he simply moves a chair as silently as possible to the opposite side of the hospital bed as Liam is sat, and takes a seat himself, absentmindedly smoothing the bedcovers.

“Don’t be daft. Nowhere else I’d rather be. Well, obviously I’d rather none of us were here, but as it stands…” Zayn shrugs; he’s pretty sure Liam knows well enough.

Unsurprisingly, Liam falls asleep before long, arm pillowing his head on the hospital bed, hunched over from his seat. Zayn doubts it’s very comfortable, but he’s not going to complain.

Liam’s fingers are knotted loosely with his own across the bed and, as he listens to the steady, rhythmic inhales - and the slow exhales which somehow soothe an ache he wasn’t aware was hurting - Zayn thinks that maybe he could let his increasingly heavy eyelids fall shut for just a moment.

***

They spend the next two days at the hospital.

Ana wakes up the morning after her surgery, still groggy from sedative and high on painkillers (Zayn really shouldn’t laugh, but a stoned three year old is pretty entertaining). She can’t stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time for a while, but she still expresses her happiness on seeing her father’s face, and Zayn’s right next to it. Liam says that he can already see an improvement on when he brought her in and it’s like a weight has been visibly lifted off of his weary shoulders.

They’re inundated with raucous noise when the rest of the lads arrive later in the day. Zayn had given everyone a call once Ana woke up to let them know what had happened, and they’d all promised to pop round when they had a chance. If any of them had been surprised by Zayn being the one to ring them and deliver the news, no one said anything.

Louis hadn’t been quiet a day in his life, so when he arrives after lunch with Harry in tow, they can hear him almost as soon as he enters the ward; and as he steps through the door Zayn can see he is laden with balloons, not quite obscuring the bright red clown nose he has tied to his face, while Harry carries the much less exciting (to Anastasia anyway) overnight bag with a change of clothes and Liam’s toothbrush. He soon has all the children in Anastasia’s room cackling with high pitched delight, and the nurses keep walking past the door, expressions torn between disapproval at the raucousness and pleasure at seeing the kids forgetting their illnesses and hurts for a few minutes.

Harry stands next to Zayn when he isn’t being dragged into Louis’ antics. He lightly bumps hips with Zayn and gives him a questioning look when he glances up at him; Zayn just knocks back into the younger man and gives him a cheeky grin. It might be his default response whenever anyone questions how he’s going, but for once Harry doesn’t look away disappointed; instead he smiles right back and Zayn can’t help thinking that it might be something to do with the way that this time he actually meant it, that maybe it finally reached his eyes.

By the time Niall and Sammi arrive after work, Louis and Harry have ducked out and come back with pizza; Zayn isn’t entirely sure they’re supposed to have it in here but the nurses seem to have turned a blind eye on their rag tag group and even Liam isn’t complaining. He had expressed a little concern earlier that all the laughter would hurt Ana’s stomach; the three small marks where the surgeons had cut into her were bandaged up out of sight, but Zayn had caught a glimpse of them when a doctor came in to inspect them earlier. He suspected they were going to cause her a bit of pain over the next couple weeks as the skin and muscle knitted itself back together, but for now the morphine seemed to be keeping it well at bay, if her continued giggles and persistent scratching at her nose with the back of her hand was anything to go by; Niall laughed that when he’d gotten his own appendix out a few years back, morphine had been pretty much the best thing about it, but he’d made the skin on his nose almost red raw from trying to rub it right off his face.

It might be an odd setting, and not the most ideal, but it’s the most normal Zayn has felt in a long while. He nearly wishes that Ana isn’t due to be discharged tomorrow.

Niall makes Zayn come home with him and Sam, dropping him off on their way home so he can get a decent nights rest and a shower. He insists he’s fine, but his joints are starting to groan in protest at the thought of another night sleeping in a chair and he  _is_  pretty sure he’s starting to stink something fierce. It has nothing to do with the way that Liam nods his head at him in encouragement and tries to shoo him out with the rest of them, while simultaneously making him promise to come back first thing in the morning because “You’re the only one that can convince Ana to let the doctor check on her scars.”

When they’re leaving late on Thursday afternoon, they all bundle into Liam’s car; Ana grizzling slightly when Liam places her in her car seat, but only because she’s still all clingy and dozy from her final dose of morphine. Zayn’s hoodie holds a fairly large bottle of liquid codeine to keep her pain down once it wears off; he hopes it’s enough. It’s stronger than the paracetamol Liam had at any rate.

Zayn expects them to travel further into the city, towards his apartment, but instead Liam turns them in the direction of his place; Zayn doesn’t notice immediately and chooses not to say anything, although Liam must realise at some point because he shifts slightly in his seat, glancing over at Zayn.

“Sorry, I didn’t think. I just wanted to get her home for now; I can pay for a cab to take you back home later. You can have some dinner with us, yeah?”

Zayn snorts. “’Cause it’s not like I can’t afford my own taxi. I don’t mind, Liam; it’s been an age since I’ve had a meal round at yours.”

The unspoken reason why hangs between them.

Zayn knocks it away and continues, twisting in his seat to look behind him; “Hey Tas, what we gonna have for dinner, eh?”

Ana wrinkles her nose thoughtfully, then her face lights up and announces enthusiastically, “Ice cream!” naming not only her favourite food but also one which she has been inundated with at the hospital over the past day and a half, and apparently not yet sick of it.

He turns back to Liam, raising his eyebrows and failing miserably at wriggling them, if the held back laugh on Liam’s face is anything to go by.

“Well, Dad? Do we have some ice cream stashed at home for brave girls who got their tummy fixed?”

“Is that supposed to persuade me, Zayn? You might have to practice that. But I think we might do…and if not I’m sure we can make Uncle Zayn go fetch us some,” and Liam smiles so brilliantly that he can’t help thinking  _I’d run to the edge of the earth for it if you asked me with that smile_.

“Meanie; it’d be your fault if there isn’t any there in the first place.”

They continue bantering for the rest of the trip; Zayn pulls more funny faces, trying them out on Anastasia before judging them good enough to present to Liam, proud when he finally forces a bark of laughter out against Liam’s will just as they’re pulling into the driveway.

***

“You don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to, you know. If you don’t want to get a cab I mean. The fridge is almost out of food, so unless I cave into Ana and let her live off pot noodles for the foreseeable future, I’m going to have to go grocery shopping anyway. I could drop you off then?”

They’re washing the dishes now that Ana’s in bed and out for the count, painkillers apparently doing their job. There aren’t many to do; they’d come home to find a pasta bake in the fridge which only needed heated through, apparently left by a curly-haired elf earlier that day for Liam to come home to. Zayn tries not to think about how perfectly it split between two grown men and a toddler, or how much Harry sees behind his heavy lidded eyes. The dishes probably could have been left for the morning, when there were actually a number worth doing, but Liam is Liam and Zayn has to admit that there is something soothing in the routine of something so familiar after the last days of upheaval. He looks up and Liam’s scrubbing at a spotless plate, eyes flickering back and away from Zayn, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, ok. That’d be good. Didn’t really say see-ya to Tazzie anyway.”

“Good, yeah, good. She would’ve been gutted if she woke up and you were gone.”  _Again_.

Still so many things unsaid between them, between every sentence, intentional or not. Everything had seemed to be getting better again, but there were still so many stilted silences; Zayn wondered if maybe they were past fixing. If there’d always be a slight hesitancy between them.

After they are done, they go back to the lounge and slouch back at opposite edges of the couch, finding old re-runs of The Graham Norton Show. At some point they both end up half lying on and off the sofa and their feet overlap comfortably. This is the easy friendship Zayn has missed.

When an ad break is on, Zayn kicks Liam’s foot, resting on top of his, and speaks without looking away from the TV.

“This was never your fault either, just so you know.”

It’s another of their loaded pauses, the lulls in conversation where both is trying to work out what the other is thinking or, more accurately, whether they actually want to have the discussion that could unfold from it, because they’ve always had a pretty good idea what the other is thinking. And Zayn thinks he’s ready this time; he wants his best friend back, and he’s pretty sure that for that to ever happen, they’re going to have to have this out.

“Yeah, it kind of was, Zayn,” Liam’s weary tone is enough for Zayn to know they’re on the same page. He pulls his legs from Zayn’s entrapment and brings them into his chest, back leaning on the armrest, “You were there and I pushed you away; remember?”

“No, see, what  _I_  remember, was you still grieving – doing better – but still grieving. You weren’t  ready to get into a relationship with me, with anyone. And…I’m pretty sure I knew that. At some level. But I was caught up in the fact that I had finally realised what  _I_  feel for you, that I’m not sure I’ve ever really felt for someone before and I just wanted you to feel the same. I thought you did, you say you did, but,” Zayn grimaces and leans his head back against the back of the couch, blinking furiously, “it wasn’t my call to make and I shouldn’t have forced you into a corner like that. And that is definitely mine to be sorry for.”

He really wants to look over to Liam, to let him know how profusely he means his words, but he can’t bring himself to; he isn’t sure he could handle seeing his expression right now, judging him, or worse, pitying him. Instead, Zayn closes his eyes, wills his face not to betray him and hopes that maybe Liam will finally forgive him and let him be his friend again.

Liam doesn’t say anything for the longest time. Zayn is still waiting for some sort of response when he feels the weight on the sofa shift and then all of a sudden warm lips are moulding themselves to his.

Liam lowers himself so he sits astride Zayn’s lap and his weight is solid and sure and right. And Zayn didn’t realise he had missed this feeling until right this second; there was only the one night before and he had never been sure he was allowed to keep that memory. But then Liam rolls his hips slightly and his tongue is tracing the edge of Zayn’s lower lip and Zayn stops thinking altogether as an aborted groan slips from his mouth.

They kiss, and it’s unrushed and explorative, relearning the feel, the shape, the taste of each other; but there’s an intensity there, too; as though Liam is trying to speak everything through the pressure of his mouth against Zayn’s and the way he holds his face in his hands – securely, like something precious to take care of.

Actions aren’t always sufficient though, and maybe their track record with miscommunication should be warrant enough to require words, explicit and impossible to misinterpret. So Liam pulls back, breathing heavily, and makes sure Zayn’s eyes are focused on his own pupil-blown orbits before he speaks. His thumbs are stroking Zayn’s cheekbones and it all seems very familiar to Zayn, but this time the roles are reversed.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Liam’s voice is soft and low, filled with a disbelieving awe that makes Zayn feel like he might blush, although unsure why. “You say that I blame myself too much, that I feel guilt over things which I shouldn’t. And maybe there is some truth in that. Sometimes. But you don’t realise that you do it too. You sit here, filled with so much guilt and pain that my own heart splinters a little when you try to tell me that everything between us is down to you. And maybe we were both wrong; maybe our timing was off and maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the point when you came back from tour. But maybe I should’ve given you an explanation, asked for time rather than cutting a Zayn-shaped slice from my heart. Because that wound hasn’t been healing, Zayn. I’ve been waiting and waiting for the idea of you, of us to disappear, to at least begin to fade. And instead, I’ve spent every day since you left me and Ana at the airport waiting, hoping, for something else entirely. Even though I never thought I could have it, not since I was so afraid of moving on that I sent you forward without me. Until ten minutes ago. Because you know what?”

Zayn tries to swallow the lump in his throat, the one which keeps rising, tasting bittersweet like hope and loss; he opens his mouth to croak out a  _what?_  But Liam’s mouth catches his once more, tongue sucking gently on his like he simply couldn’t help it. Zayn never wants it to stop, but he pulls back just far enough to catch Liam’s gaze because he has to know what changed. He has to know that this time will be different because he’s not sure he could survive it again.

Liam shakes his head infinitesimally and chuckles almost noiselessly before bringing his mouth close again, not quite touching as he breathes hotly into Zayn’s parted lips.

“You said you realised what you feel for me,” and Liam must know he’s confused because it’s Liam and of course he does, “You said _feel_. Present tense.”

And  _oh._ Zayn had realised as he spoke that he had slipped, but he didn’t think Liam would notice. But apparently he had. And judging by the way Liam’s hand has reached around to grip the back of his head, pulling him closer while he licks into Zayn’s mouth and his other hand wedges itself between Zayn and the back of the couch to stroke the small of his back and dip under the waistband of his sweats, Liam isn’t exactly offended by the thought that Zayn hasn’t been able to let go of him, of them.

There is a lot about it that feels like a warm, often revisited memory, brought to life in amazing technicolour, but it’s all new too; the start of something Zayn’s heart hesitates to call forever, but which pounds out the beat in his chest all the same.

They stumble upstairs to Liam’s room, shedding shirts down the hall and forgetting to be quiet. It’s no longer  _LiamandDanielle’s_ , just Liam’s; the duvet is new, the walls near empty. Memories no longer haunt every corner.

The rest of their clothes are hastily discarded and Zayn wastes no time in pushing Liam down on the bed, in taking his hardened cock into his mouth, in hollowing his cheeks and making Liam keen in pleasure. He wants to figure out just how to make Liam produce a whole range of noises; the soft moans when Zayn bites lightly on the inside of his thighs; the way he near begs when Zayn licks teasingly around the head of his leaking cock, bucking his hips as if he’d quite happily fuck Zayn’s mouth if he didn’t start doing something more proactive with it.

Zayn’s not sure he expects it when Liam tugs him off and flips them over, just as he is sure Liam is near coming. But when Liam pants into Zayn’s ear  _I want to be inside you, want to come inside you_ , Zayn’s dick throbs in anticipation and he is more than willing for Liam to fuck him senseless if it means he gets Liam like this; uninhibited and lovely, looking at him through darkened eyes as though he could strip Zayn down to his very soul and still like what he sees.  _Maybe even love_.

When Liam pushes inside him and  _moves_ , having almost turned Zayn into a boneless mess before he would even begin, Zayn can no longer control the moans and barely comprehensible words which fall from his lips. Liam is new to this, that much Zayn knows, but god is he thorough. He can barely concentrate enough to grasp onto Liam’s shoulders, back, arse, whatever skin he can reach and try and keep his gaze locked onto Liam’s face; there is no way for him to filter his vocalisations, to catch the words as his orgasm rocks through him, the twist of Liam’s wrist around his cock sending him over the edge as Liam continues to thrust into him. Something that sounds suspiciously close to  _love you, Li_  tumbling out; enough to have Liam stutter to his own groaning completion.

They fold together under the covers, having cleaned up the worst of the mess with tissues from the nightstand; two puzzle pieces fitting snug against each other, finally where they belong.

Liam presses a soft kiss to the curve of Zayn’s neck and murmurs quietly into the darkness.

“Will you stay?”

“Always.”

***


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to finish where we began - the epilogue is dedicated to 'Say (All I Need)' by OneRepublic

It’s that enveloping sort of cosy beneath the sheets of their bed, the sort that feels like a hug. Liam doesn’t really want to think about moving right now, possibly ever. He can feel extra warmth radiating from Zayn’s still-sleeping body only a few inches away; Liam doesn’t have to roll over to be able to picture the sight of him sprawled out on his side, in a loose foetal position which somehow always manages to dominate the mattress by morning. His feet will be nearly brushing Liam’s calves while a hand will lie close enough to his shoulder blade that it tickles Liam slightly every time Zayn takes a particularly deep inhale; and yet his arse will still manage to be almost hanging off the other edge of the bed.

It was this time of day – mid-morning on a weekend, the time when Ana watches cartoons downstairs (not yet bored enough to demand their attention) and soft light filters through the curtains to ever so slowly wake them – that Liam loves most, and he would usually let it linger as long as possible.

Today, however, they have to make a move.

Liam curls around to face Zayn, carefully so as not to inadvertently crush any fingers, and presses a kiss to his cheekbone, ghosting a hand over his ribs. His arse burns a little as he rolls onto it (and then more quickly over onto his side), a reminder of their, uh, enthusiastic celebrations of the night before; it was something which didn’t happen very often, not enough for Liam to get used to the morning-after sensation, but it sparked enough pleasurable memories of the dark hours that he could only further regret the need to get out of bed.  Liam probably should have thought this through a little better, considering the day ahead of them, but Zayn’s insistent mouth and eyes gazing at him through ridiculous lashes was never something Liam could quite figure out how to say no to – to remember why ‘no’ would ever be part of his vocabulary.

Zayn whines and tries to shuffle away from the tickling, eyes still closed, until they jolt open as his whole body jumps; he must have been closer to the edge than he’d thought, Liam thinks, smirking, and nearly falling out of bed is always a more effective wake-up than morning-breath kisses, especially when Liam knew there wasn’t time for a lazy hand job to coax him into consciousness.

“C’mon babe, time to get up. I’m going to go down and make something for Ana’s breakfast in case Lou and Harry ‘ve already finished with theirs when we get there.”

“But Liiiiiiiiii. It’s still so early,” Zayn’s voice is muffled by the pillow he’d scrunched his face into, still in denial of his current state of wakefulness, “Just because you’re old now doesn’t mean you can boss me around.”

Liam swings his legs out of bed, followed by the rest of him as he tosses the covers back, resisting the urge to snuggle back into Zayn’s side when the cool air hits his skin.

“Never. After all, if I’m old then you must be practically ancient,” He pulls on the pajama pants lying on the floor and leans back over to kiss the back of Zayn’s neck – close to the only part of him exposed – while he tugs his t-shirt from underneath Zayn’s pillow. “Now please get through the shower and chuck anything you need into the bag by the wardrobe; I’ll grab our toothbrushes and things just before we leave. Do you want me to make you anything?”

“Omelette,” comes the short reply, and Zayn wriggles impossibly further beneath the covers while Liam shakes his head and wonders how he wound up with such a big lump of a child to spend his life with. Luckily, he hears the unspoken  _thank you, Li - love you_ ; it’s somewhere between the sleepy creases of Zayn’s forehead and the soft rustle of blankets being begrudgingly pushed back as Liam leaves the room.

Zayn’s voice floats out to him as he reaches the top of the stairs, “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry; we’re not due at your Mum and Dad’s ‘til dinner. Besides, it’s  _Harry and Lou_ , you’ll be lucky if anyone other than Maddie is even awake when we get there.”

***

Looking around their lounge the night before, the realisation had struck Liam. That  _this_ , this was what happiness felt like.

Surrounded by their family – including those they were lucky enough to choose, and who had stuck by through everything – and with Zayn standing solidly at his side while Anastasia tore around the house, ‘looking after’ the younger kids with all the responsibility an eight-year-old can muster, Liam wondered how it could have snuck up on him so completely without his noticing.

Niall and Sam were sitting on the opposite couch, Niall’s arm slung affectionately around his wife’s shoulder, toying absently with a lock of hair as he interrupted one of Louis’ stories because  _it’s not exactly impressive since Paul always knew when you and Harry were sneaking off to shag, you twat._  Sammi, in turn, whacked Niall’s leg sharply – a reminder to  _watch your bloody language in front of the kids_  accompanying it, which quickly dissolved them both into huge grins and stifled laughter; Sam’s clutch on her heavily pregnant belly only added to the effect.

Their two boys, Ben and Caleb, raised their heads briefly at the sound of their parents, but, having seen what was a pretty usual commotion in their household, soon returned to whatever game Ana had set up for them over by the toy corner. The four-turning-five-year-old twins were about as laidback as their mum and dad were, although maintaining a mischief streak as wide as their grins, identical to not only the other’s but also Niall’s own sunshine smile. Some days, Liam would think he could happily just sit and bask in the warmth that radiated from the Horan family.

The Irish couple had announced their engagement at Christmas dinner the same year that Zayn and Liam had gotten together, and the news that they were expecting followed not too many months later. Rather than push through the plans they already had organised, Sammi convinced Niall to opt for a long engagement, putting the wedding on hold until they had welcomed their dark-haired boys into the world (Liam still forgot sometimes that his friend wouldn’t pass on his blonde locks, it seemed so ingrained into his personality that it was odd to consider him otherwise). When they did make it to the altar, the two-year-old lads also made their way up the aisle, clinging trustfully to Zayn’s fingers, to bring their parents a matching gold band each.

Liam watched as Ana – having left the boys to it – carefully teaching young Maddie how to stack up the tallest of towers, methodically working from largest to smallest blocks; advice which was largely being ignored by the three-year-old toddler, who was the newest recruit to their close-knit One Direction family (Liam has to wonder if that will ever stop being his key identifier for them).

After a few years of decently successful touring and two albums later (plus the third put together out of various live shows from before they became famous), The Game had started to come to a natural halt; Harry’s music had matured, but so had he. By the time he turned twenty eight, he had ended his second band much the same way it had begun – amicably and without much fuss – and had, along with Louis, started down the path for something bigger than anything else he had already taken on; parenthood.

None of them really knew how difficult it would be for Harry and Louis to adopt a child (it was one thing they were both set on – there were already enough children in the world that needed love and care; they didn’t need to go down the surrogate route), but they were all convinced it would be much harder than it turned out to be. Liam remembered quite a number of appointments for interviews and evaluations, inspections and character references, but he could have sworn it was barely a year before they were bringing home a thirty-month-old baby girl to meet their Uncles Zayn and Liam. He didn’t know anything about her birth family, and didn’t care to ask; he simply knew that it was all carried out right here in London and that Maddie had turned from shy and slightly hesitant, to a bubbly character in the months that followed; one who wasn’t afraid to flash an attitude befitting of her fiery red locks when her fathers weren’t paying her what she deemed to be satisfactory attention. Zayn had joked to Liam once that he had never seen Louis as cowed by anyone as by a single unimpressed look from his daughter.

“Dad-dyyyyyyyy.”

“A-naaaaaaaaaa.”

Anastasia rolled her eyes at her father in the way only girls seem able to do at Liam’s response, although the impact was lessened somewhat by her simultaneous giggles.

“Dad,  _please_  can I take Maddie to my room and show her my xylophone Nana got me?”

The way that Ana’s out of control mane of curls flopped in front of her face as she bounced up and down in front of him was so familiar that Liam had to pause for a second. As she grew up, Ana was becoming more and more like her mother, and sometimes she would do something and it would still take Liam’s breath away. The wound which was Danielle’s death was still an ever present part of Liam’s life, but over time it had healed; it had stabilised from lethal, to debilitating, to what had lately become a silvery scarred ridge on his heart – permanent but more a reminder now of what had been rather than an oozing gash which caused him physical pain.

“Course you can sweetpea, but make sure you don’t let her be too rough with it, love; Nana would hate it if it broke. And we’re going to be having cake soon, okay, so listen out in case we call you.”

“Thanks, Dad!” A rushed kiss was pressed sloppily to Liam’s cheek as Ana rushed out of the room, calling excitedly to Maddie from the hallway to hurry up already. Liam turned his head back to the conversation only to catch smiling eyes staring back at him.

As always, Zayn was sat next to Liam as an unwavering presence.

It wasn’t how he thought his thirtieth birthday would be but, somewhere along the way, Liam had finally given up on the smoke-like remnants of his old dream, of how he was sure his life would, should, be. It had been a nice dream, a good dream, but now Liam could see the faults in its fabric; the fading light and holes torn from the centre, leaving it ragged. He could see through it to the brightness, the bold lines of something more; not necessarily something better, but something strong and true and real, that had been waiting patiently for Liam to take it by the hand.

Liam was living his new dream.

***

They pull up outside Lou and Harry’s place and Zayn reaches over Liam’s arms to honk the horn long and loud, before turning in the passenger seat to face Ana, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Make sure you take good care of Haz and Louis, okay?” Zayn holds the back of her head still as he scatters kisses over her forehead and cheeks, “You know how they get after too much sugar, love.”

Ana giggles and nods, pressing her own noisy kiss to the tip of Zayn’s nose.

“Bye, Zad.”

Liam’s can’t help smiling a little on hearing Ana’s silly little pet name for Zayn, even years after first hearing the smushed up title. It isn’t quite Dad, and for that he’s grateful; he’s pretty sure that would have been far too confusing for all parties involved in any case – and also because Danielle was and always will be Ana’s Mum, whether Ana remembers her or not (and increasingly it seems to be leaning towards not, a fact which sends Liam’s scar twinging in his chest). As little sense as it might make, there is a tiny part of Liam that continues to fear that that would no longer be true if Zayn was officially referred to as her ‘other’ father – even if he has been more or less exactly that for over half a decade now, for most of her life. But Zayn is something special in her life too; a permanent fixture, no matter what happens. Especially since January, when, as a birthday gift to Zayn, all three members of their little family decided it was time for him to officially adopt Anastasia to be her second legal guardian; her Zad.

Liam spies a sleep-rumpled Harry standing just outside the doorway, bare feet curled against the cold ground of the entrance, waving a weak salute to him.

He turns back to his daughter. “Bye, sweetie. Do as your uncles-” Liam’s cut off by a smacking kiss to his lips from Ana, who just as quickly bounces back and starts opening her door, tugging her weekend bag out behind her, muttering  _yeah yeah, I_ know,  _Dad_.

“Please do as your uncles tell you, and Harry will take you to school Monday morning, yeah? We’ll be back in the afternoon to pick you up at the gates,  _hey_ , don’t forget your schoolbag!”

“ _Yes,_  Dad,” Anastasia leans back through the open window to loop her arms briefly around Liam’s neck in a hug, “Love you.”

And then she’s running up the steps to give Harry a hug and call through the door for Maddie and Lou.

Harry gives Liam a grin and Louis pops his head out the side of the doorframe to wave out at them.

“Have a good one boys! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do and I’ll promise not to corrupt this sweet young thing against you too much,” he hollers out towards the car.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Liam retorts, restarting the vehicle.

Zayn waves back at the shrinking figures out the rear window as Liam pulls off the curb and turns in the direction of the motorway.

Once they’re well into their drive, companionable silence settled over them, Zayn quietly entangles their fingers over the gearstick. The touch of Zayn’s skin is familiar; the varying smoothness as Liam’s fingers brush the pads of each finger down to knuckles and across to follow the lines of Zayn’s palm; each bone and indent carefully memorised over the years. Liam traces the region around Zayn’s right ring finger where he knows he is rubbing over a black mark, forever stained into Zayn’s skin.

Liam and Zayn had never gotten married in the five years they had been together, probably never would; Liam had already been there, done that, suffered the consequences that weren’t really consequences at all but would ever be linked in his mind regardless. And Zayn being Zayn understood that, never really felt the need to define their relationship anyway – they were together, they loved each other, and that would always be enough for him.

Despite that, Zayn still wanted to have proof – to himself if no one else (but also to Liam, even though he was the one person who could never doubt it) – of the commitment between them. Liam knew that there were a myriad of Zayn’s tattoos dedicated in some form or another to him, varying in size, subtlety and meaning, but all present and accounted for in the tangled web of tattoos which had spread over the years to cover a large portion of Zayn’s arms and torso. They all meant something important to him, even if they didn’t look it, or if Liam didn’t know exactly what that meaning was (Liam isn’t sure he’ll ever truly know everything there is to know about him; not because he’s the mystery wrapped in an enigma that he was always portrayed as, but because Liam is always finding sparkling new facets that he has somehow passed over). His parents, sisters,  and his experiences on the road. Lessons learned and memories not to be forgotten. The boys. Liam. Ana. All were etched into his skin time and time again.

And out of all of them, this tattoo is Liam’s favourite, as biased as he may be.

At a glance, it looks like a simple black band. From most angles, especially in the occasional pap photos still taken of them, it certainly did look like nothing more than a ring. At most, there might be the slightest hint of smudging of the line between his fingers. But on closer examination, you can see that it’s much more intricate than that.

The ‘smudging’ sometimes seen between Zayn’s ring and middle finger is actually a very deliberate zig-zag in the design; a heartbeat. Or, as Zayn had explained to him, whispered in the intimate darkness of their bed on the night he’d first shown Liam – their third anniversary – it was  _the sound of home_.

And on the exact opposite side of the tattoo (noticed even less often) were the tiniest of letters breaking the continuity of solid colour, stating the most simple of messages. One which Liam himself has had replicated on his own body; although subtle enough that he isn’t sure even the lads has ever noticed, kept just for the two of them.

_His_.

***  
  
  
 _ **End.**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sososososososososo much for reading, really hope you enjoyed it and are happy with the way everything worked out in the end. This really was my babe for months when I was writing it and it holds a special place in my heart.
> 
> Comments literally give me life (yes I mean literally shut up) so please please please feel free to leave comments/criticisms/keysmashes/novels/death threats/ any combo thereof below because I really do appreciate every single one.
> 
> <333


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